Missing TnT Scenes Season One
by Alelou
Summary: Because we can never have enough. Here's the drill: Open existing episode. Insert missing canon-friendly Trip and T'Pol scene. Enjoy. The first season is now complete.
1. Broken Bow

**Disclaimer: **All things Star Trek belong to CBS/Paramount.

**Spoilers:** _Broken Bow_. If you haven't seen it, this won't make much sense.

**Author's Note: **This may continue into other eps, or it may not. I am _supposed_ to be putting fanfic away for more profitable pursuits. So this is a relapse. If you want to encourage me to wallow further in this terrible addiction, leave a review.

* * *

From Episode 01 _Broken Bow_

By the time he and T'Pol were done modifying the sensors and Reed had successfully locked onto a Suliban plasma trail, Trip was starving. "I'm going to grab something to eat, if that's all right with you," he told T'Pol. He supposed this meant he was accepting her command authority, which he still wasn't sure was the right the thing to do. On the other hand, she'd surprised him by listening to his argument, so there wasn't really that much point to getting all pissy about it. Jon could set her straight when he was back on his feet.

Assuming Jon didn't agree with her.

Jon wouldn't agree with her, would he?

T'Pol surprised him once again by saying, "I will join you. Mr. Reed, you have the Bridge."

Reed gave her a tight, reluctant nod and shot a vaguely reproachful look at Trip. Trip scowled. No doubt the Brit thought he was letting T'Pol roll right over him, but then Reed didn't have to worry about their entire mission being squashed out of existence by tight-assed Vulcans just looking for any excuse. Thank God she hadn't actually needed to issue many orders. The entire bridge crew looked doubtful and confused and kept turning to him for confirmation, which he gave with tiny nods.

_MEMO TO: Capt Archer, FR: Cmdr Tucker RE: Chain of Command. Please establish one. Thanks._

In the lift, Trip stood uncomfortably and shifted his weight from foot to foot, conscious of silence, conscious that at this point the shower he'd had that morning was very old news. He was no doubt reeking in Vulcan terms, if not human, too. Good thing she was trained to tolerate unpleasant situations -- like decon, which she'd handled like a trooper. Meanwhile, he was maddeningly unable to stop remembering that he'd seen and even touched this particular Vulcan when she was _half-naked_, or that she was incredibly, unbelievably _gorgeous. _

Was thatwhy he just couldn't summon the nerve to tell her where she could put her superior Vulcan rank?

"The crew appears uncertain of my authority," T'Pol said, as the lift doors opened.

He was a little surprised that she 1) could see that, and 2) was willing to address it. "Well of course they are," he said. "They don't know you and they don't know what the hell you're doing taking command."

"What if we come under attack? Will they follow my orders?"

"I suppose that depends on whether your orders are reasonable."

"That is clearly an unacceptable situation."

"Then turn command over to me. I'm the officer they expect to be giving the orders."

She stopped in front of the mess hall doors and gave him a hard stare. "That would also be unacceptable. You are inexperienced and impulsive."

Trip smiled tightly. He walked into the deserted mess and opened the cabinets, scanning for something to tide him over. "I'm not as impulsive as you may believe. For example, I haven't had you thrown in the brig yet, though the thought has occurred to me."

"You have no authority to throw me in the brig."

"You don't think so? Shall we test that?" Was that a ham and cheese? Perfect. He grabbed the plate and headed to the drinks dispenser. "Milk," he said.

She selected a salad plate and followed him, frowning. "I doubt that would improve the situation."

"I agree, which is why I haven't done it. Guess we'll just have to do our best to work together until Captain Archer is back on duty."

"It is unfortunate that the captain did not detail a clear chain of command before our expedition."

Trip just smiled and took a seat. She sat down across from him, and they ate in silence for awhile.

Damn, she really was beautiful. She even looked good chewing lettuce.

She stopped chewing and gave him an odd look, almost as if she knew what he was thinking. He fumbled for something, anything, to say. "So you Vulcans don't get involved when you see someone abusing someone else, huh?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"On Rigel. You said not to interfere." Yes, arguing was definitely safer than ogling. Plus, it was still bugging him. Those feminine yelps hadn't been expressions of joy, not in any universe that made sense to _him._

"We were there to find Klang, not to protect the local prostitutes."

"What if she'd really started screaming bloody murder? Would you have been willing to do something _then?"_

"Women in that trade generally have their own protection in some form or another," T'Pol said. "Even if she didn't, as I said, we were there to find Klang. The situation was already dangerous enough without involving ourselves in issues that didn't directly concern us."

"Theoretically, then. You're in an alien space station and you come upon a man who's, say, raping a little girl while she screams and cries. You'd just walk on by?"

"That is a highly unlikely situation. But there _are_ species known to tolerate rape. Unpleasant as we may find the practice, there are also species that marry off prepubescent girls to much older men, or sell them into the sex trade – in fact, I believe this tradition still existed only a century ago in some cultures on Earth. Do you believe you should reform the sexual mores of every new species you meet?"

"I'd sure as hell try to stop the guy from raping the little girl."

She frowned at him. "This is exactly why the Vulcan High Council fears your species is not ready for interstellar exploration."

Trip couldn't believe his ears. "And this is why a lot of humans think Vulcans are coldhearted bastards who would as soon step over your dead body as look at you!"

She blinked. "On Vulcan or even on Earth, I would not hesitate to interfere in the situation you described," she said, carefully enunciating every syllable as if she hoped this would make herself more intelligible to the slow-witted human. "But on an alien world where I am unfamiliar with the laws or customs in such matters, I would leave it to the local authorities. You would be well-advised to do the same."

He scowled. "Like I said. You wouldn't even lift a finger to save a _child_."

"That is an oversimplification, but then I find humans are quite prone to that." She stood up. "If you will excuse me," she said coldly, and left.

Great. Now he'd really pissed her off.

Wait a minute. He stuck his tongue in his cheek, thinking. He _had_ pissed her off. He'd pissed off a _Vulcan_. The corner of his mouth twitched.

_This could be fun…_


	2. Fight or Flight

**Author's Note:** Yep, I'm still lying in the ditch, watching the wagon as it slowly rattles on without me. Thank you so much for the kind reviews. It's nice to know you're enjoying my relapse. I guess we'll see how it goes.

**Spoilers:** Episode 2, _Fight or Flight_ – once again, it won't make a whole lot of sense if you haven't seen it.

* * *

Chef's attempt to approximate Vulcan tea was quite possibly the most appalling failure T'Pol had seen yet on _Enterprise,_ although it was also surely the least significant. Still, after the last couple of days she would have deeply welcomed a genuine taste of home, especially one hot enough to help her resist the persistent chill of the ship's common areas.

She knew that this was a petty concern. Still, she couldn't help wondering if the real reason no Vulcan had stayed on an Earth ship for more than ten days was the simple lack of creature comforts. It couldn't have been the perception of being disliked and disrespected at virtually every turn, after all. Such an emotional reaction to persistent human attitudes would hardly have been logical.

She looked up when the door opened. Commander Tucker walked in, grimy and sweaty, his shoulders slumped in fatigue. He headed directly for the food , then asked for "Coffee, strong."

He started to sit down at the nearest table, then noticed that she was sitting at the furthest one. "You're up late," he said. "Want company?"

It was on the tip of her tongue to say no. She could already smell the man from here, and the last thing she wanted at the moment was another emotion-driven argument, something Tucker seemed to relish more than anyone on the ship. However, she was also aware that he'd attempted to support her position with the captain when Archer was making his nearly-disastrous decision to return to the alien ship. She was also beginning to realize that any hint of personal rejection was best avoided with these humans if possible. This was perhaps especially true with Mr. Tucker, whose reactions could be quite unpredictable. "You may join me," she said.

He sat down with a little groan and slumped over his coffee, drinking it with serious intent. Then he sighed and said, "That's better."

"You are also up late," T'Pol observed.

"We've got an awful lot of repair work courtesy of those aliens, whoever the hell they were." He took a bite of pie and only half-chewed it before asking her, "Did you get to go aboard the Axanar ship?"

"Yes."

"What was it like?"

"Similar to the disabled ship, only larger."

He grimaced, apparently frustrated with her answer. "Did you get a look at their engines?"

"No."

He stretched his neck. "I sure as hell hope I don't have to spend this entire voyage down in Engineering repairing stuff and never getting to to see what else is out there."

"That is hardly likely. You boarded the Axanar scout."

"Yeah, but only long enough to get their comm working. I never got to see their engine room."

"Judging from the Axanar's warp signature, you would not have discovered anything too exotic."

"I just like to see how other folks do it, that's all. You never know what ideas you might pick up." He leaned forward. "I'd _kill_ to get a good look at one of your Vulcan cruisers' engine rooms."

She lifted an eyebrow.

He smiled stiffly. "That was a figure of speech. I wouldn't really kill for it."

"I am relieved to hear that."

He gave her a small smile and ate for awhile. She took another sip of the tepid tea. It really was most unsatisfactory.

"Not good?"

She must have betrayed her distaste with a facial expression. Apparently she was more tired than she realized. "Chef claims it is Vulcan tea, but it does not taste like any Vulcan tea I have ever drunk before."

"Well, you'd be the expert. Have you tried coffee?"

"No. I find the smell quite disagreeable."

"Really? I love it. How about regular old human tea?"

"I find it quite bitter."

"Have you tried milk and sugar in it?"

"Adult Vulcans do not consume milk or sugar."

"No, of course you wouldn't. That would be too much fun. How about mint tea? It's one of my mom's favorites."

She raised her eyebrows. "Mint?"

He said, "Wait right there," and went to get a cup for her. "Try it," he said, looking expectantly at her.

She took a careful sip. It was surprisingly pleasant … at once hot and yet oddly cool. "It is … interesting. Thank you."

"You're welcome." He smiled. "You might want to try chamomile sometime too. That's another favorite of hers."

"I will keep it in mind."

They sat in silence for awhile. "Commander," T'Pol said. "May I ask your opinion about a personnel matter?"

His face darkened. Perhaps it had not been wise to remind him that Archer had named her his executive officer. "What is it?" he said.

"Do you believe Ensign Sato is truly suited to her position?"

He frowned. "She sure knows her stuff. She's got to be some kind of genius or something."

"I agree that she is an extraordinarily talented linguist. However, she also appears to be quite anxious and fearful. This has already proven to be something of a liability."

He nodded. "I know. She knows it, too. Maybe it's just taking her awhile to find her space legs. It might be a good idea to give her extra drill time, maybe some extra weapons training. But you know, it could also be she's just more open about her fears than most of the crew. I think we're _all _a little freaked out that we've had two hostile encounters right out of the gate. I'm sure she's not the onlyone who's wondering if she really belongs out here."

"Do _you_ wonder if you really belong out here?" Given that T'Pol had argued that exact case to him only recently, she was pleased at the idea that he might have come around to her point of view.

He grinned. "Oh hell, no. I've been waiting my whole life for this."

She blinked at him. Given the man's extreme youth, his "whole life" seemed hardly worth the mention, but she found herself less disappointed by his response than she expected. It was strangely invigorating to work with beings that suffered from such a high degree of enthusiasm, even if it sometimes verged into the irrational.

If nothing else, it was clear that her steadying presence was sorely needed_._

"Well, I'd better get back to work," he said with a smile, and nodded to her before he took his dishes away and ambled out the door. She watched him go and sipped her tea. It was odd how the simple pleasure of an agreeable hot drink could make one feel so much more comfortable in a strange place.


	3. Strange New World

**Spoilers:** Episode 03 _Strange New World_. This story will make little sense if you haven't seen it.

**Author's Note:** In this one we're back to conflict because there was absolutely no way to work within this particular episode otherwise. (I'm trying not to do post-eps, though it may be difficult to avoid in some cases, if I get that far. As it is I'm cheating a bit here by using flashbacks.)

Thanks for the reviews. I love reviews! That's probably what I'm really addicted to.

* * *

"You'd have better luck making friends with a housefly."

His voice was quite low, obviously pitched for Crewman Cutler's ears alone, but Vulcan hearing was more acute than most humans realized. T'Pol paused in her survey of her checklist. _Housefly._ _Musca domestica_. A small flying insect known for carrying disease and laying its eggs in decaying flesh. Not a creature a human would likely want to befriend. Indeed, she knew the term used for its larval stage – _maggot_ – was sometimes employed as an insult.

T'Pol frowned unconsciously as she checked off the items needed for this needlessly precipitous survey expedition. It appeared that her response to Crewman Cutler had been interpreted as yet another personal rejection by both the engineer and the entomologist.

She failed to understand why Crewman Cutler would desire to make friends with her. Such a relationship would hardly conducive to the efficient running of the ship. Furthermore, Starfleet had rules about fraternization between the ranks, although T'Pol was beginning to wonder if anyone on the ship actually intended to heed them.

Certainly Mr. Tucker did not appear to be so inclined.

He had turned red in the face just the day before when she had suggested to him that his casual familiarity with his own engineering staff was ill-advised. She felt it only right to warn him that while his overall performance appeared strong, this was an area of weakness that could potentially reduce his rating on his six-month evaluation.

"Excuse me?" he'd sputtered. "Are you trying to tell me how to manage my staff?"

"Captain Archer _has _named me his executive officer."

He'd laughed in an oddly choked kind of way. "I know. He values your knowledge and experience. He probably also figures you're the only person on board who will actually enjoy keeping all those records. That _doesn't_ mean he wants you interfering in the way I run my department."

"I believe the way you run your department _does_ fall under my purview."

"I've been successfully managing engineering crews for the last eight years, Subcommander. The last thing I need right now is some Vulcan with a stick up her ass trying to tell me I'm doing it all wrong!"

She blinked. A stick up her ass? Mr. Tucker's vast collection of colloquialisms sometimes made her wish she had Ensign Sato with her to translate their conversations. "I did not say you were doing it all wrong, Commander. On the contrary, your performance is above average. I was merely pointing out an area of weakness. Surely this is to be expected in any supervisory relationship?"

He scowled. "Maybe if it _were_ an area of weakness, but it's not. Check my previous evaluations. It's simply my personal management style. My personal _human_ management style. If you see my department's performance start to suffer – if you see any decline in efficiency or response – _then_ you can start to tell me something about how I'm getting the job done. If not, I suggest you keep your nose out of it."

First her ass, now her nose. Metaphorically, the man was all over her. And surely this utter lack of receptivity qualified as insubordination? "I will have to discuss the matter with Captain Archer."

"You do that." He stood up, possibly in a primitive attempt to intimidate her with his greater height. Since they were separated by the ready room desk, the effect was not particularly notable, not that she would have been intimidated anyway. By now she had become accustomed to Mr. Tucker's intrusions into her personal space. "Are we done here?" he said brusquely.

"I was going to ask if you had any questions or concerns for me, but we appear to have covered that already."

He snorted. "Yeah, I guess we did."

"Very well. Dismissed."

Of course, once she'd actually given the order, he _didn't_ leave. She had noticed that he never responded to her with either _sir_ or _ma'am_ either -- not that she particularly valued this human tradition, but from him its lack was perhaps telling.

"You know," he said, his arms folded, his lips jutting, "If anything, you should probably be asking _my_ advice about how best to manage this _human_ crew."

She stared blandly up at him. "I believe I have already taken your advice on several occasions already. I regret that you don't have a similar openness to my suggestions. As I said, I will discuss the matter with Captain Archer."

He grimaced, and she thought she finally saw a trace of anxiety cross his face. "Look, I'm not trying to make problems here. I'd like to think that the two of us can get along and work together well when we need to." He raised his eyebrows. "Who knows, maybe we could even be friends."

"That is neither likely nor desirable, Commander."

His mouth tightened, and he left without another word.

Why did these humans continually demand friendship where it was neither appropriate nor necessary? Did they attempt to become 'friends' with everyone they met? And if so, how valuable could such prolific 'friendships' possibly be?

She made her way into the shuttle and sat down in front of the craft's sensor panel. Ensign Mayweather was already working through the launch checklist in the front seat. The rest of the survey team arrived and took their places. Mr. Tucker followed them in. He didn't glance her way or make any acknowledgment as he took a seat in the back.

When she had consulted Captain Archer, he had supported his friend. He'd said, "Maybe you should lay off Trip for awhile. He was supposed to be my first officer, you know. I think he's handled losing that position pretty gracefully, but he may need some time to really get adjusted to the new command structure."

"Are you sure _you_ have adjusted to the new command structure, Captain?" she'd asked.

"What do you mean?"

"You are supporting Commander Tucker's right to reject my supervision. I don't see how you can expect me to perform my duties adequately if the entire Engineering staff is exempt from my oversight."

"They're not exempt, T'Pol. I'm just saying hold back from interfering at this point. Trip knows what he's doing. He's been in charge of some of these people for years now. Unless you actually think his department is under-performing. If that's the case, let's talk about it."

"It is not underperforming at this time, but…."

"Then let it go. Let the man do his job. If problems arise, we'll deal with them."

"That is an inefficient approach."

"Perhaps, but I'd still rather have you hold off. Did you know that Trip's the youngest chief engineer in the history of our space program? He didn't get where he is today without showing us he could get the job done – not just with engines, but with people. You could probably learn something yourself from observing him."

That was all too close to what the Commander himself had said.

Perhaps _she_ was the one having trouble adjusting to the new command structure. Perhaps it had been a mistake to accept this role on this human ship. She had thought she could do some good, but if she was going to be routinely ignored and overruled by both Archer and Tucker…

"Everybody accounted for?" Archer said, arriving on the shuttle with a huge grin. He had brought his dog, which he released onto the deck. As always, the little creature ran to each person present for a sniff.

She strove to keep her face blank and her nostrils from flaring at the additional odors the canine introduced into a small space already crammed with humans. Fortunately, she had already taken an extra dose of her nasal numbing agent. "We are as ready to depart as we can be on such short notice, Captain," she said, reflexively checking her survey team one more time. Tucker, she noticed, was animatedly telling Crewman Cutler about various unpleasant encounters with something called "palmetto bugs." Cutler, in turn, looked slightly bemused.

Why had Archer even assigned Tucker to this outing? Was it an attempt to placate him for having to deal with her?

"Well, let's get this show on the road!" Archer said to Mayweather and sat down.

T'Pol turned her attention back to her sensors. In the scheme of her greater duties, it was of little import whether Mr. Tucker resented her or not. It was not an ideal situation, of course, but there was no immediate cause for concern.

It was, for example, unlikely to affect this particular mission in the slightest.


	4. Unexpected

**Spoilers: **_Unexpected _– as usual, it won't make sense without it.

**Author's Note:** Thank you so much, reviewers. You make this very rewarding. I have to say I thought about skipping this episode, partly because I already did my thing with _Commander Tucker has a Baby_ (although that one goes AU, obviously), and partly because I couldn't see how to do it except as a post-ep. But then I thought I could throw a scene or two in right after the missing scene on the DVD version. If you don't have access to that, here it is, courtesy of the wonderful Chrissie's Transcripts Site:

_TUCKER: Are you certain you made the correct sensor modifications?  
REED: Yes, absolutely certain. Their last trajectory?  
T'POL: We've altered our course to match.  
TUCKER: How do we know they haven't changed their heading?  
T'POL: We don't, but we've compensated to detect their stealth telemetry. We should be able to locate them.  
REED: It may take a while. Why exactly are we trying to find that ship?  
T'POL: Yes. I thought you provided all the services they required.  
TUCKER: If you'll excuse me, I'm not feeling very well.  
T'POL: Perhaps a little lunch might help. I hear Chef has prepared Rigelian sausage. (Tucker groans) Being vegetarian I can't speak from experience, but I'm told it's quite succulent.  
TUCKER: I think I'm just going to go lie down for a while.  
REED: Commander, if we tune the UV sensors to the omicron band, we should be able to isolate their plasma trail a good deal faster. Do you think you could spare a minute just to help me recalibrate them?  
TUCKER: I'm afraid this isn't a very good time. (makes a dash for another door, hand over mouth, noises of being sick out of camera shot) _

* * *

After throwing up into the situation room toilet, Trip felt a lot better. Maybe he really could help Reed tune the UV sensors to the omicron band now.

But Malcolm greeted him with a mixture of pity and distaste. "Commander T'Pol will help me recalibrate the sensors. You really should go see Phlox. What if this is related to that thing on your wrist? I don't see how he can be so certain you didn't catch some bug over there."

"Indeed," T'Pol said.

"Fine, I'll go see Phlox," Tucker said, with a glare at the first officer. Anything to get away from more of her sneaky little attacks. And where was the logic in all that sarcasm?

In the turbolift, he did his best to ignore the little flutter of vertigo/nausea as it started. How the hell was he supposed to function if he was stuck on an endless loop between the mess hall and the nearest toilet?

He headed straight for sickbay. "Doc, _please _tell me you can give me something for nausea."

Phlox looked up from his monitor. "Ah, Commander. I was just studying the DNA of your embryo. Did you realize that the vast majority of the space-going species we are familiar with originate on Minshara-class planets? These Xyrillians are a quite remarkable exception."

"Yeah, I know, I took Exo-biology 101. Come on, Doc, I'm losing everything I eat. That can't be good for me _or_ the baby."

"Well, let's take a look at you," Phlox said, and pointed for him to lie down on the imaging chamber table.

"You must have a hypospray or something for me," Tucker said, as the table slid into the chamber. He waited for the scan to complete, then got up impatiently as soon as he had slid out again. "I can't do my job like this!"

Phlox smiled tightly. "You've gained over a kilogram. Obviously you're not losing _everything_ you eat."

"That's not how it feels."

"Normally I would have something that could help you weather these symptoms, but I'm afraid I can't be certain what affect our drugs might have on a Xyrillian embryo. I think it's best if you just try to eat frequent small meals, nothing too spicy, and get plenty of rest."

"That's the best you can do?"

"With any luck, the worst of it will pass soon."

"With any luck this _embryo_ will be gone soon. We just have to find the damned Xyrillians!"

"I certainly hope we do. If nothing else, I'd like some good information about how to safely get you through this experience."

"What do you mean, _safely?"_

Phlox looked uncomfortable. "I don't know how a Xyrillian fetus gestates in one of their own males, let alone a human male. Right now it's integrated into your pericardium in a quite significant way. Will it begin to detach on its own, or am I going to have to go in and try to do it surgically?"

"Wait a minute. Are you saying this thing could kill me?"

"Oh, I doubt that. There were plenty of adult males on that ship, yes? So it hardly makes sense to think they sacrifice their lives to help the females reproduce. But do contact me right away if you start to experience a sudden rapid heartbeat, difficulty breathing, dizziness, faintness, unusual fatigue..."

"My heart started beating pretty damned fast the minute you said something about _surgery._"

Phlox smiled and scanned him. "You're perfectly fine. A little stress is quite understandable under the circumstances. Perhaps if you could think of this as a brand new way to explore strange new worlds…."

"I prefer the old-fashioned way." Trip sighed. "And I'm hungry again."

"Then by all means eat. Remember: frequent, small meals. Don't let yourself go too long without food and that may help keep the nausea at bay."

"Too bad my station isn't the mess hall. Actually, strike that, when I smell Chef working with raw meat in there it makes me want to gag."

"The fetus's way of defending against parasites, perhaps. Isn't the wisdom of the body remarkable?"

"Wisdom?" Trip said. "_Whose_ wisdom? You ever seen _Invasion of the Body Snatchers?_"

"No, I can't say that I have."

"Well, I'm not watching it again until this whole thing is over with. I'm freaked out enough already."

x x x

Ugh. It really did smell like Rigelian sausage in the mess hall. He loaded up a plate, took a glass of milk, and escaped into the less aromatic atmosphere of the captain's mess. It was still a little early and he hadn't been officially invited to the captain's table, but he doubted Archer, who often ate lunch at his desk, would mind lending it out to a frazzled engineer. A steward popped his head in but Trip waved him away. "Don't worry, Daniels, it's just me. I just need a little quiet time."

"Whatever you say, Commander," Daniels said, and left.

The door slid open. T'Pol stepped in.

Trip sighed. "No, Subcommander, I didn't ask permission to eat here, but I didn't think the captain would mind."

She lifted an eyebrow. "I simply wished to inquire if you were all right."

"Oh, peachy-keen."

Her brow furrowed. "You went to see the doctor?"

"Yes I did. Why? Are you fishing for new things to use against me?"

"Fishing," T'Pol repeated softly, before apparently managing to place the metaphor in context. She sat down at the table. "I assure you, that has never been my intent."

"Could have fooled me." He eyed his cooling food unhappily and sighed. "What can I do for you, Subcommander?" Anything to get her to just shut up and leave, already.

Daniels popped his head in again. "Subcommander?"

"Thank you, but I am not here for a meal, Crewman," she said.

"Oookay," Daniels said, with an odd little smile, and disappeared again.

"Perhaps we should reduce your duty hours until you are feeling better," she said.

"If I ever do," Trip said morosely.

"Commander?"

"I'd rather try to work my regular shifts, if you don't mind. I'll make sure I have capable back-ups available in case I have to run for it or drop a baby in the Jefferies Tube or whatever the hell is going to happen."

"We should be able to find the Xyrillians."

"I sure hope so. And then I hope they can get this thing out of me without anybody being the worse for it."

"That would be ideal."

"'Course you'd lose your main source of entertainment."

She tilted her head. "I beg your pardon?"

He shook his head and finished chewing a bite of his sandwich. "I take it on Vulcan it's the women who have the babies? Or do you create them in test tubes or something so you can still fit into your skinny little uniforms?"

Her eyes narrowed. "As among humans, Vulcan women bear their own children unless a health condition precludes it."

"And then what? Slap a diaper on them and ship them off to logic camp?"

"Generally speaking, a woman stays at home with her infant for at least the first two years."

Huh. "Guess you drill all that logic into them yourself, then."

"Young children are not particularly receptive to logic. The brain must first develop the capacity for abstract thought. However, discipline and emotional control _can_ be encouraged beginning quite early in life with proper parenting technique."

"I'm sure," he said sourly.

"May I ask you a question?"

Tucker sighed, and spoke around a mouth full of food. "Why stop now?"

"If this condition is truly as unexpected and unsought as you claim, why continue it at all?"

"What do you mean?"

"Why not simply … terminate it?"

Trip had no easy answer for this. For one thing, Phlox had not offered the option. For another … "What if I run into Ah'lenn again one day? What am I supposed to tell her? Hey, I was pregnant with your kid for awhile, but, you know, having it just wasn't very convenient..."

"It's _not _convenient."

"And you get on ourcase for eating the flesh of animals? Hello? It's a _baby_ we're talking about here."

"If events truly unfolded as you say, this pregnancy amounts to a violation."

"Are you calling me a liar again?"

"No, I'm calling you a _victim._ If indeed you were not seeking sexual contact with this alien…"

"Look," Trip said hotly. "This is bad enough without thinking I'm some kind of helpless victim. She seemed like a nice lady. I prefer to think she didn't mean for this to happen, that it's just some big dumb accident. Now do me a favor, Subcommander, and BACK THE HELL OFF. I've got enough to deal with right now without being harassed by you!"

T'Pol stared blankly at him for a moment, then got up and left without another word.

Great. He sighed. Probably he'd be getting a friendly little warning from Archer later about making nice with the first officer.

He was just plain going to steer clear of ALL alien women from now on. Yes, he was. By now he'd learned_ that_ lesson, but good.


	5. Terra Nova

**Spoilers:** _Terra Nova_ – As usual, it won't make sense without it.

**Author's Note:** I really wasn't sure I'd be able to come up with something on this one, but here we are, and at the expense of some other stuff I really ought to be doing instead. Thanks so much for the reviews. That's what keeps these coming ... against all logic and discipline!

* * *

Finding a geologically stable subterranean environment that could sustain a fairly significant group of hunter-gatherers on uncharted continents wasn't the easiest task Archer had ever given his two senior officers. Fortunately, T'Pol's department had begun scans of the planet as soon as they arrived, so they were able to use the computer to narrow down the possibilities. That still left a good number for them to examine in more detail. T'Pol created a checklist and a rating scale and they set to work grading the potential sites, which they divided between them. Once Trip fully understood her scale, it was pretty routine, even dull, and he couldn't help thinking this was more appropriately a task for the science department than an engineer.

On the other hand, he had the edge when it came to detecting potential structural weaknesses in subterranean chambers. And more to the point, Archer wanted him on it. Still, he was soon bored enough to want some conversation. "So I decided maybe I should bone up a little on the history of the Vulcan space program," Trip said. He'd been embarrassed that he couldn't come up with the name of even one Vulcan expedition at dinner.

Besides, he had a feeling this could be fun.

T'Pol quirked her eyebrow at him, but said nothing.

"I guess it hadn't really hit me before how much longer you guys have been doing this than we have. I mean, literally _thousands _of years longer."

"Yes."

"Frankly, I'm kind of surprised that you're not…" He hesitated. Did he really want to go there?

"What?" T'Pol asked.

He bit his lip to contain a grin. Hell yeah, he did. "Well…that you're not more advanced than you are, compared to us. I mean, I know you _are_ more advanced, but with _that _much of a head start, you ought to be _way_ ahead of us."

T'Pol appeared unruffled. "Perhaps a great deal of our progress is in areas you are not yet capable of perceiving or appreciating."

He wasn't going to let her distract him from his main argument. "Well, in the areas my puny human brain IS capable of perceiving, like technology, you look maybe a hundred and fifty or so years ahead of us – at most. In short … you folks are striking me as kind of, well… _slow._"

He stuck his tongue in the side of his mouth to help him contain his grin and waited.

It was immensely satisfying to watch her face darken. "_Slow?_ " she said. "Our warp engines are faster than yours by a significant factor. We have superior weapons, scanners, computers, and other devices. We employ a number of technologies you do not have at all, such as shielding, tractor beams…"

"Yeah, yeah, I know, but it sure looks to me like we'll catch up. Soon. Possibly even in my lifetime."

Her mouth tightened. "Vulcans place a higher priority on confirming research results and testing new prototypes than humans do. As a consequence, we seldom suffer a loss of life in the development of new technology. You cannot say the same for Earth's space program. Besides, there is little logic in constantly committing vast resources to improve one's space fleet beyond what is needed. Vulcan can protect itself, maintain trade, and resolve scientific questions. What more is needed? The proportion of resources set aside for the space program has proven sufficient to meet our needs for hundreds of years."

"Are you sure about that? What if some nasty new alien race swoops in and surprises you?"

She gave him a bland look. "That kind of surprise is unlikely. Intelligence is another area in which Vulcan far outpaces Earth. In any case, paranoia does not lead to rational decision-making."

"Yeah, well," Trip said, "You just keep telling yourself that." Not that he actually knew anything about it, but it was fun trying to rattle her. "Tell me something else. Why, after all this time, don't you have any colonies?"

She blinked. "If you had read your history carefully, you'd know there _was_ a group of Vulcans who rejected Surak's way and left Vulcan at the time of The Awakening. However, all contact with them was lost. The Vulcans who stayed embraced logic, and there is little logic in risking your lives to establish new colonies when you can enjoy security and a comfortable existence on the same planet where your ancestors evolved. Of course, Vulcan does maintain outposts throughout this sector of the galaxy, but the Vulcans manning them are eager to return home when they have completed their duties."

"See, we couldn't be more different that way. Earth already has a whole bunch of colonies: Lunar One, the Martian colonies, Vega, Deneva, Proxima…."

"Perhaps if Earth did not suffer from continuing population growth, over-use of limited resources and unstable political factions, there would be no drive for such expansion. Indeed, Terra Nova is a perfect example of human illogic. After establishing one settlement with a population of only 200 residents, the colonists refused any further additions to their ranks. Without an influx of new genetic material or an extremely significant change in the birth rate, those Terra Novans faced likely extinction even before the asteroid hit. At this point its remaining population is even less viable."

Trip scowled in confusion. "Wait a minute. Didn't you recommend we relocate them to one of the other continents?"

"Yes."

"Even though they're not viable? Where's the logic in that?"

"The Novans have developed their own unique culture, Commander. That must be respected."

His mouth hung open in disbelief. "Even if it's certain to die out?"

"It is always unwise to interfere in other cultures. That is one of the lessons Vulcans have learned over those thousands of years in space. You would be wise to attend to our example."

He shook his head, flabbergasted. "Does the captain realize these people are doomed?"

"What would the Novans themselves choose?" she asked him. "Do they _want_ to return to Earth? Loss of identity is extremely traumatic for all sentient beings. Indeed, it is a kind of death."

"Yeah, okay, maybe it's a _kind _of death, but it's not _death._"

"Everyone dies. Most sentient beings prefer to die in their own homes, among their own people."

He stared at her. If she felt that way, why was she still here? But perhaps she considered this her form of temporary duty on some very distant, very lonely Vulcan outpost. And of course she was young to be thinking about her own deathbed.

"You know what," he said. "I don't care _where _I die nearly as much as I hope my descendents will have a decent shot at carrying on. But you're saying that's not something these Novans will have."

"I never said this solution was ideal," T'Pol said. "It is merely the least objectionable. Perhaps future relations with the Novans could bridge the differences between the two cultures and allow a change in their destiny."

"Well, I sure hope so," Trip said. "I'd hate to think we're going to all this effort just to give these people a slightly different place in which to die."

"We are giving them the gift of time," T'Pol said. "Who can say what the future will hold? For any of us?"

Trip sighed. The captain had seen it T'Pol's way for once, and he didn't really want to open the debate up again, any more than he really wanted them to have to turn _Enterprise_ around just to drag a bunch of terrified, unwilling Novans back to a planet none of them remembered.

Maybe, just maybe, in this one case at least, she had a point.


	6. The Andorian Incident

Hey, why plant tomatoes when you can write a missing scene instead?

As always, many many thanks to the reviewers! (If you logged in, I reply to your inbox, but some of you haven't.)

* * *

"The Andorians have left," Archer announced. "You are free to go."

The monks just stood there. The Elder said, "Where is our initiate?"

"Oh, he'll be along," Archer said, with a grimace. "I'm guessing he's not actually attached to the spy station you have here, or he would have been a lot more effective at what he tried to do. So I assume he's just a particularly gung-ho initiate? Or are you people even really monks?"

The Elder frowned. "Excuse me?"

Archer smiled without mirth. "There's a huge spy station carved right into the mountain behind this sanctuary. I find it hard to believe you've never noticed. Were the construction crews as quiet as you are?"

The Elder said nothing.

"A spy station?" Tucker said. One eye was now swollen shut where he'd been smashed by the Andorian's gun. "How'd the Andorians get away?"

"We let them go," Archer said.

Tucker grimaced, his hand rising involuntarily to his face. "Why did we do that?"

Lieutenant Reed raced in. "Captain," he said. "I believe Crewman Baratto may be going into shock. He needs medical attention."

"I'll get Phlox down here," Archer said, and held out his hand for the communicator. While he called the ship, Reed went to Commander Tucker's side. "Looks like you could use a little attention from the good doctor, too," he said, under his breath.

Tucker lowered his voice to ask Reed, "I don't understand. We did we let them go?"

"It was the captain's decision," Reed said, in a tone that clearly suggested it would not have been his.

Tucker turned his eyes to her, then, as if he hoped she could explain, but she looked away. She would not have let the Andorians go herself, but she thought she understood the impulse. After all, why would Archer wish to aid Vulcans who had lied so baldly to him – had even watched him come back from two beatings without saying a word? Handing their secrets over to the Andorians with his blessing was perhaps his very human way of 'getting even.'

And the Vulcans _had_ lied, to a degree that shook her foundation of beliefs.

Because Vulcans did not lie.

Not that she was unfamiliar with the occasional need to prevaricate. One didn't work in intelligence as she had without accepting the logic of occasionally setting aside one's own moral purity for the greater good. But that was a special yoke highly-trained intelligent agents accepted, a reasoned sacrifice. It was not supposed to be the Vulcan way. It was not supposed to be Vulcan _policy._

Had Soval known about this? What would have happened if she'd asked him before they undertook this visit? Would he have found some logical reason why they shouldn't go?

She stared at the Elder, but he would not return her gaze. He'd known. Of course he'd known. And the others?

None of them would look at her. They must have known.

They'd let the Andorians beat Archer repeatedly. He might have been killed. For that matter, any of them might have been killed at any moment. Did these monks truly consider this spy station worth dying for?

"Captain," she said. "Perhaps it would wise to leave promptly. Given the lengths to which my government has gone to protect their treaty violation, it is possible they are also prepared to use deadly force to protect their secret."

Tucker said, "I sure wouldn't want to have take on a Vulcan cruiser."

"Which is undoubtedly on the way," Reed said. "I _did_ notify Starfleet about the Andorians."

Archer looked at her for a long moment, and she watched him realize that things might be even worse than he had thought.

He would never trust her people now. Then again, she might not either.

"Actually, I'll go get Baratto and transport up with him," Archer said, with a grimace. "Perhaps I should communicate our little discovery to Starfleet Command sooner rather than later. Get everyone else together and return on the shuttle as quickly as you can."

She nodded and noted that Reed and Tucker were already poised to follow her. They headed for the door.

"You shame Vulcan."

It was the Elder. She stopped and turned. Most of the monks were staring coldly at her, like the Elder who had just spoken, and for a mad moment she wondered if they were upset that she hadn't requested the stone of J'Kah. But no, of course that was not it. She had allied herself with these humans. _That_ was her error.

"_I _am not the one who has shamed Vulcan today," she returned coolly, and resumed her course.

"Damned straight," Tucker added under his breath, apparently for her benefit. And then they were jogging along the hall, intent on their objective.

It was illogical of her to take the slightest pleasure in Tucker's comment. Nonetheless she was conscious that she found it agreeable. Perhaps this was because she suspected there would be very little approval from any of her Vulcan colleagues for some time to come.

* * *

**Author's Note:** In researching to see what others had done (partly to avoid repetition and partly because I really couldn't figure out where to stick a missing scene) I came across another nice missing scene for this episode: "Infinite Diversity" by Starbaby at Trip T'Polers. And I think she really picked the perfect spot. So go enjoy that one, too. I didn't want to copy her, so I stuck this scene on at the very end but BEFORE the shuttle pod takes off. So _technically_ it's not a post-ep. At any rate, that's my story and I'm sticking to it!


	7. Breaking the Ice

Spoilers: _Breaking the Ice_. Won't make sense without it.

Author's Note: I really shouldn't be doing this today, so I didn't take the time to research other stories either, but I know there are a bunch of them related to this episode. I'll just hope this one is original enough, and my apologies if it isn't. As always, many thanks to the reviewers.

* * *

She'd stayed! She'd actually stayed.

And Trip was finding it very hard not to smile, though he wasn't sure why.

Maybe it was because he'd been proven right? In his gut, he'd been sure that was what she wanted to do. Why else would she talk to a mere human about her problem – especially one she seemed to find even more annoying than the rest? She had clearly been looking for an out.

But he hadn't expected her to actually _take_ the out – not when she had so many good Vulcan reasons to ignore her own desires.

T'Pol's desires. Oh boy. What _else_ might she have buried under that stern Vulcan façade?

Oh, please. Down, boy. Even if she were Human and he had half a hope in hell of understanding her – which was unlikely since he didn't really understand Human women either – he needed to stay professional.

Besides, the very last thing he needed right now was another doomed relationship, only this time in the place where he worked, on a very small ship – one significantly lacking in privacy, as Jon had just been telling his nephew's class just that morning.

Not to mention that, technically, he didn't even know the thing with Natalie was over yet. He'd been a little surprised to hear himself telling T'Pol that all three of his serious relationships had gone bust.

But it _had _gonebust. He knew it in his bones. He'd suspected it even before he got off planet – in the tight, almost nostalgic smiles on Natalie's face those last weeks, in the apprehension he felt every time she looked serious. He still wasn't sure why he hadn't brought it up then, forced the issue a little. At this point he was just waiting for the official notification.

He knew it was over the way he'd known T'Pol actually wanted to stay here, on this ship, among the smelly and annoying humans.

Imagine that.

x x x

He pressed her door buzzer and wondered if he was insane.

"Yes?" she said. She was wearing those rich burgundy pajamas again, or whatever they were – Vulcan leisure clothing, apparently. Her face was utterly blank, something he'd learned to associate with her displeasure. Perhaps he'd interrupted something. If Vulcans were anything like humans, she might well be having second thoughts.

"Sorry to interrupt, but I brought you a not-going-away present."

An eyebrow quirked. "This is a human custom?"

"Actually, _going-away_ presents are the custom, but I thought – well, it's just a slice of pecan pie, really, but I thought you might want to try it after all."

She just stared at him.

"Here," he said, all but shoving it into her hands. "Enjoy. Or toss it in the garbage chute, whatever. I guess I really just wanted to say that I'm glad you're staying with us."

"Thank you," she said and stared down at the pie. He could see her nostrils flare. Perhaps the smell of warm pie would entice her to try it after all. But he was fairly certain that would never happen while he was watching, so he said, "Well, okay. That's all, really. Have a good night!" And he nodded quickly and walked away.

Eventually he could hear her door slide shut, but it seemed to him it took longer for that to happen than it logically should have.

And once again he was finding it very hard not to smile.


	8. Civilization

**Author's Note:** Okay, it's raining, and this is more fun than cleaning house. But this is not a particularly sweet or funny little entry, I'm afraid. Our boy did not behave entirely well in "Civilization" and I felt he needed to suffer some consequences. Thanks as always for the reviews. (And thank you for the tip about the unnamed country, **Ibekoj**. I guess that might explain the entry for "Satellite" too.)

* * *

"Commander, if you would please join me in the ready room."

Trip swallowed. "On my way," he said.

At least the ship wasn't taking fire anymore. T'Pol's idea of beaming the reactor adjacent to the Malurians and then blowing it up had obviously worked.

Brilliantly.

And he was a horse's ass.

x x x

Nobody on the bridge quite looked at him as he exited the turbolift and shifted over to the ready room. Trip licked his lips and tried to contain his growing sense of dread.

"Reporting as ordered, Subcommander," he said, and stood at attention.

T'Pol said nothing for the longest time, just stared at him.

He stared straight ahead and resisted the urge to explain, to apologize, to suggest that he would never do it again. After all, this was at least the second time he'd disobeyed her orders on the bridge, let alone what he'd done under the influence of those spores. Speaking out of turn right now would just be one more example of his inability to control himself.

Finally, she spoke. "Would you care to explain, Commander Tucker, why you countermanded my orders and threatened to render this ship incapable of warp speed during a critical combat operation?"

He cleared his dry throat. "I mistakenly believed you were about to abandon the captain, Subcommander. But that doesn't excuse my actions, which were impulsive and irresponsible and..." He swallowed painfully. Might as well get it over with. "…Grossly insubordinate."

"Yes. They were."

He waited, blinking away an embarrassing degree of moisture in his eyes as he tried hard to maintain his straight-ahead stare. Although he'd never been one for a lot of spit and polish, Trip took real pride in his rank and accomplishments. He couldn't believe he'd possibly just thrown it all away.

And _why?_ Because she was Vulcan? Because he'd watched her stun that Akaali woman and had been reminded once again that she was an alien whose logical thought processes could take your breath away with their heartless efficiency? Was it because she'd taken _his_ job? Or was it because, damn it, he was the Chief Engineer and he could damn well say when this ship went anywhere, or didn't?

The silence drew on. Archer was probably heading back on the shuttle by now. He swallowed again, trying and failing to moisten his dry throat. Would that improve this situation, or just make it worse?

"Tell me, Commander Tucker, what would _you_ do with a senior officer who had just behaved the way you did?"

For Pete's sake, couldn't she just get it over with? Why did she have to torture him like this? He sighed. He supposed it was possible she genuinely wanted his advice, though he found it hard to believe she hadn't already absorbed every disciplinary manual Starfleet had to offer. "I'd probably put him on report and confine him to quarters until I could consult the matter with the captain."

"And would you have a recommendation for the captain?"

He slumped a little. "I don't know. The punishment has to include something … public … so that the whole crew understands that this sort of thing won't be tolerated." He supposed he ought to be glad that keel-hauling didn't work in space, and that public whippings had gone out of style, too. He sighed. "Perhaps reduce his rank." Damn it. But perhaps he _had_ risen too far too fast. He knew some in Starfleet thought so. These were some of the same people who thought Jon had been a damned fool to take a second who was so young -- and a personal friend to boot. "A recipe for disaster," Duval had called it – Trip had overheard him in the 602 Club. "The fair-haired boy is going to screw up sooner or later, mark my words."

He really, really, really hated to give that idiot the satisfaction of being right.

"Very well, Commander," T'Pol said softly. "You are hereby on restricted duty, confined to your quarters, until I can further consult this matter with the Captain. Dismissed."

For the first time, he dared to look her in the eye. She looked tired. It finally occurred to him that T'Pol could be interpreting his behavior as a personal betrayal as well, especially after she'd decided to stay on _Enterprise,_ a stranger in a strange land. Especially after she'd possibly even taken _his _advice about doing it.

"Yes, ma'am," he said, desperately clinging to protocol, and turned to go. At the door, he hesitated a moment and looked back. "I'm sorry, T'Pol."

She met his eyes for the briefest of moments, before her gaze shifted down and away, and somehow Trip felt even worse.

He really was the biggest damned horse's ass in the whole damned galaxy.

* * *

**A tip for further reading:** In looking around for other entries, I discovered a nice little story that makes a little more hay with this issue, from multiple points of view: It's called "Responsibility," by IchthusFish, right here at this site.


	9. Fortunate Son

**Spoilers:** "Fortunate Son," and it will make only limited sense without it. However, this really functions more as a sequel to the missing scene from "Civilization."

**Author's Note: **Thanks as always for the kind reviews! Also, I'd like to give another shout-out to Chrissie's Transcript Site, which makes this sort of thing so much easier to do.

* * *

Commander Tucker met them in the shuttle bay and started reporting before they had finished climbing the ladder. "Welcome back, Cap'n. We've already grabbed the other pod and we'll bring it in just as soon as we can open the doors here. Malcolm and Hoshi are trying to get a lock on the _Fortune's_ course, but we're having some sensor issues. With your permission, I need to get to Engineering and see what I can do about them from that end." He took a breath. "I'm sorry I let them get away."

"Don't worry about it, Trip," Archer said. "It beats the hell out of being decompressed." Archer glanced at T'Pol and she thought she detected some muted concern in his expression. If so, perhaps it had something to do with Commander Tucker.

It was only two weeks since the engineer had spent five days confined to quarters in the wake of his insubordination on the Bridge during the incident with the Malurians, and he had been subdued and anxious to please ever since.

T'Pol had originally considered that penalty far too light. Commander Tucker himself had suggested a reduction in rank. She felt that idea had some merit, given the seriousness of his offense and the reality that a drop to Lieutenant Commander would not impair his place in the chain of command. Captain Archer had disagreed. He had explained that such a mark on his record could ruin Tucker's chances for a future command, which would be particularly unfortunate since he was considered a strong prospect. "Not to mention I don't particularly want to be this far out with a chief engineer who's going to start second-guessing himself. Trip's already beating himself up enough. Believe me, he takes this kind of thing very much to heart. Besides, I think this is partly my fault."

She had quirked an eyebrow, interested to hear more.

"When Trip likes someone, he'll follow them over a cliff," Archer said. "And frankly, it seemed to me that he'd decided he liked you. But I probably shouldn't have relied on that. I should have emphasized the new chain of command a little more strongly."

T'Pol said, "It perhaps did not help when you essentially exempted his department from my oversight." She didn't add it aloud, but she also faulted Archer for allowing a casual familiarity among ranks. Nor did it help when he disparaged her suggestions in front of Tucker and others.

"No, in hindsight it probably didn't," Archer said. "Well, here's your chance to establish your authority there. You'll be supervising Lieutenant Hess while she leads that department in Trip's absence. See how it goes. If you encounter resentment, let me know. They're very loyal to him, but this isn't supposed to be a popularity contest."

Fortunately, Hess and the rest of the staff had been cooperative. They were clearly well-trained and well-disciplined, and T'Pol's opinion of Mr. Tucker's management abilities had only risen during the period of his absence.

But it seemed the same could not be said of Mr. Tucker's opinion of himself.

"I will accompany you to Engineering," she said, and saw Tucker's face darken momentarily, although he quickly wiped the expression away.

"Of course, Subcommander," he said politely, and headed out, walking quickly and efficiently and not attempting to engage her in any conversation as he once would have.

Apparently, if Tucker had once "liked" her, as the captain had put it, he no longer did. This was immaterial to the execution of their jobs, of course, but T'Pol found herself regretting it nonetheless. Friendships appeared to be important among the humans, a sort of social lubrication that often allowed tasks to be completed more efficiently, with a greater degree of collaboration.

Of course, as a Vulcan she merely required his respect, and in fact, he was far more formal and respectful with her now than he had ever been. There had been no more intrusive personal questions and no more of the unreasonable arguments he appeared to so enjoy. T'Pol was puzzled that she was experiencing this as a loss; she should have been pleased.

Instead, just like Captain Archer, she seemed to instinctively feel that something was amiss.

"You resent my presence in Engineering?" she asked.

"What?" He stopped dead in the corridor. "No, of course not. Why would you think that?"

"When I said I would accompany you, I observed a change in your expression that was suggestive of … negative emotions."

He looked almost amused for a moment. "Getting better at that, are ya?" He shook his head dismissively. "It's nothing to do with you. Maybe I resent _myself_ a little, you know – that I've let things to get the point where you feel you actually need to _be there_ to supervise me."

"That is not why I am accompanying you to Engineering."

"No?" He started on his way again, his jaw set. She suspected that he didn't believe her, and decided that further explanation was required. "We have worked together on sensor issues in the past, and I would like to ascertain the problem as quickly as possible since it may affect our ability to track the _Fortunate_."

His jaw only tightened, and she saw his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed hard. "I should never have let them go to warp."

"You had no reason to expect an attack."

He just grimaced and continued walking.

"Commander," she said, and put a hand briefly on his arm to stop him.

"Yes, ma'm?"

She hadn't appreciated his failure to address her properly before, but she liked his newfound observance of protocol even less. "I am becoming concerned about what appears to be a significant drop in your level of self-confidence."

His mouth twisted. "You mean I'm not acting like the sun shines out of my own ass anymore? Don't worry, Subcommander. I can still get the job done."

"I never had any doubt of that, Mr. Tucker."

He gave her a long assessing look, then a brief smile that struck her as purely social, perhaps to cover some other emotion, before they continued on their way. She wondered when she had first realized that the same basic facial expression could represent many different feelings.

They got to Engineering and he set to work immediately, taking in damage reports and assigning priorities, only glancing over at her a couple of times. She watched him focus in on the sensor problem, consulting closely with Lieutenant Hess and Crewman Taylor on possible solutions. Perhaps the simple passage of time would help this man regain his sense of himself. Ideally, he would emerge from his current period of self-assessment wiser and more mature.

Though she was somewhat taken aback to realize that – contrary to all logic – she rather missed the Commander Tucker who thought the sun shone out of his own ass.


	10. Cold Front

**Spoilers:** "Cold Front" -- once again, it won't make sense without it.

**Author's Note:** Thank you as always for the reviews; I treasure them.

* * *

"There's a difference between keeping an open mind and believing something because you want it to be true."

"What the hell's that supposed to mean?" Trip followed T'Pol out of the turbolift on their way to Engineering to assist Daniels, as Archer had ordered.

"It must be quite appealing, when a situation is confusing, to believe that the correct path has been laid out by some wise, all-knowing time traveler from the future."

"Yeah? It might also be quite appealing to believe that what you've been told by the Vulcan Science Directorate all your life is true even when the evidence in front of your own eyes contradicts it."

"I have yet to see any evidence that contradicts it."

"If this guy wanted to lie to us, he could have claimed that HE saved the ship instead of the Suliban."

"But then there would be a chance he could be _caught_ in his lie."

"I still can't believe I didn't notice anything," Tucker said. He had been so embarrassed by his mistaken assessment of their guests' knowledge of warp engines that the only thing on his mind had been to redeem himself with a more sophisticated discussion. In retrospect, he might have been a little too quick to share sensitive information and a little too casual about having a bevy of aliens in Engineering. But then, Starfleet had never been particularly protective of its warp program. Why bother when they were still at least twenty years behind the Vulcans?

Of course, that wasn't the only embarrassment. He'd never felt quite as helpless in his life as when he'd seen that antimatter cascade jumping towards the warp reactor and realized there was absolutely nothing he could do to stop it. Patronizing your guests was nothing compared to blowing them up.

He'd already spent considerable time trying to conceptualize a failsafe mechanism that could prevent such a disaster in the future. Thankfully, he knew that wasn't his failure alone. Not a single warp engine in the fleet would have been immune.

"You cannot possibly see everything that goes on in Engineering at all times," T'Pol said. She had been surprising him with her supportiveness in recent weeks.

They ducked through the hatch into Engineering and were greeted with a slightly embarrassed smile by Crewman Daniels. "Subcommander, Commander. I'm looking forward to working with you both to get this equipment up and running. Needless to say, time is of the essence."

"This is quite a departure from serving the captain his breakfast," Trip said. He'd chatted with Daniels enough to privately wonder why he was content to be a steward when he clearly had a very lively, curious mind.

Daniels smiled. "Yes, though time is often of the essence with that, too, sir."

Yes, Trip thought – time-hopping temporal agent was definitely a better fit for the man, though it was a little odd that Daniels was still calling him _sir_ with apparently genuine deference_._ He exchanged a look with T'Pol, whose face had gone utterly blank.

"Well, let's get on it then," Tucker said, uncomfortably certain of her continued reluctance.

He hoped like hell this wasn't another mistake.

* * *

**Author's Note:** It wasn't easy to find a good spot for a missing scene in this one, so my apologies if this one is fairly unexciting. I was intrigued later when Daniels said, "You **two** should go" when Silik was in Engineering – but the whole episode also pretty much stopped making any sense at that point, so I decided to avoid it. (Seriously, how could they just run off and leave a murderous Suliban in Engineering by himself, not even notifying security until they get to the captain's quarters and revive him?)


	11. Silent Enemy

**Spoilers:** "Silent Enemy," and as usual it will make only limited sense without it.

**Author's Note:** Yesterday's entry was so truncated I thought you deserved an extra helping with this one. Sleep deprivation can do wonderful things to our favorite characters. As always, your reviews are much appreciated!

* * *

T'Pol bent down to survey the offerings Chef had left and stared longer than was logical at the lone slice of pecan pie. There was something about operating without uninterrupted sleep for days that made the humans' appallingly sweet desserts more appealing. Perhaps it was the immediate boost of energy they provided, though it inevitably came at some cost to the body's endocrine system.

However, the pecans in this pie were, she had discovered upon further research, quite nutritious.

"Well, would you look at that," a familiar voice said, and the distinctive smell of an unwashed Commander Tucker mixed in with the aromas of desserts and sandwiches in a way that was strangely pleasant. Lack of sleep was apparently having all sorts of deleterious effects on her senses. "I think I know what _I'm _having," he said. "Unless, of course, you want it?"

"No," T'Pol said. She chose a fruit salad instead, and sat down. Tucker got a glass of milk and joined her without asking permission, but she had expected as much and found that she did not mind. It would be illogical to sit at separate tables when they could consult about the status of repairs.

"We could split it," he said, apparently still concerned about having appropriated the pie.

"No, thank you."

"How about just a few bites? I'll let you go first."

A bite or two of that cloying sweetness was about as much as she ever wanted, actually. Phlox seemed to feel that directly helping oneself to the food on other people's plates was acceptable behavior on this ship, so perhaps it was, although in truth she had seldom observed that behavior among the humans. But since Tucker had offered, she took her spoon and scooped up a generous mouthful.

When she looked up Tucker had a startled grin on his face.

"The flavor _is_ agreeable," she said. "Thank you."

"Have some more."

"One bite was sufficient. It is extremely sweet." Didn't he realize that using this utensil on his pie again would offend against the principles of aseptic technique? She turned to her fruit salad. It seemed much less sweet than usual. No doubt the blast of excess sucrose in the pie had overwhelmed her taste buds.

"Are you sure?" Tucker said enticingly.

"I am positive."

"All right, then." He smiled and took a bite. "Mmmm. That's just heaven."

Apparently human beliefs about an afterlife involved sweetness. Perhaps this was a comfort to people who lived such short lifespans. Or perhaps it was simply another of Tucker's many metaphors. "What is the status of our repairs?" she asked.

As usual, he started speaking before he had quite finished swallowing. This was perhaps the greatest pitfall of the humans' habit of speaking during meals, though over time she had grown used to the inevitable glimpses of half-masticated food in the engineer's mouth. "The plasma relays are back in shape. Right now I'm focused on helping Malcolm get that aft cannon up and running. And I still need to take a good hard look at the shunts I set up to make sure we won't burn out the grav plating if we fire all three cannons at once – or have to do more sustained firing."

"But you will get some sleep tonight?" Like most of the crew, Tucker looked exhausted.

"Oh hell, yeah," Tucker said. "It's a shower and bed right after this."

The mess hall door slid open while they were eating quietly. Ensign Sato came in and nodded politely to them before she went to survey the offerings.

T'Pol suddenly realized that she had been idly imagining Commander Tucker in his shower. Having shared decon together, she had a pretty clear (but of course incomplete) idea of how this would look. She closed her eyes in minor irritation at her loss of focus. Perhaps it was Tucker's fault. Wasn't speaking of one's shower fairly intimate information to share with a fellow officer? Was this intentionally provocative behavior on his part, or was she was just oddly provoked by it? She'd never spent time imagining any other man in a shower before. Perhaps this was a symptom of sleep deprivation, too.

Ensign Sato interpreted Tucker's smile as an invitation to sit down with a piece of chocolate cake and a glass of water at their table. "_Chocolate_," she said, reverently.

"You ever tasted chocolate cake?" Tucker asked T'Pol.

"No."

"Maybe you should try a bite."

"No thank you."

"Oh, you really should, Subcommander," Sato said. "I don't know how I'd survive days like these without chocolate. Here, take a bite."

"Perhaps another time."

"You don't know what you're missing," Sato said. She took a bite and closed her eyes in apparent ecstasy.

"Heaven?" T'Pol said, and both humans looked startled.

"Yeah, I guess you could say that," Sato said, with a sidelong look at Commander Tucker, whose expression had turned to one of stifled amusement.

T'Pol said, "Have you determined Lieutenant Reed's favorite food yet? His birthday is tomorrow."

Sato grinned. "Yes! Pineapple. Chef is going to bake a pineapple cake for him."

"_Pineapple?_ I never would have guessed that," Tucker said. He pointed at T'Pol's bowl. "Look, you got some right there."

"It is a unique flavor," T'Pol said. "I take it Mr. Reed provided this information?" No doubt her suggestion had been helpful.

Sato's face clouded. "No." She shot a slightly irritated look at T'Pol.

"You didn't ask him?" She was somewhat disappointed that Sato would ignore such a logical suggestion.

"Oh, I asked him all right. Unfortunately, he thought I was…" She glanced at Tucker and shook her head in embarrassment. "…making overtures."

Tucker started laughing. "Seriously?"

"He said he was flattered but he didn't think that would be appropriate between two people serving together. It was _extremely embarrassing!"_ Sato, however, had begun to laugh along with Tucker. "And it's all your fault, Subcommander!"

T'Pol watched the two humans giggle. Their words did not match up to their affects in any way that made sense to her. "I apologize. Would you like me to explain the matter to him?"

Sato said, "NO! No, no, no. I clarified _that_ with him already. Let's just … let it lie."

"I don't know, Hoshi. Maybe you should ask him to join you for dessert," Tucker said.

"Shut up!" Sato said, though she seemed amused more than anything. "I shouldn't have told you."

Tucker was grinning widely. "Come on. We could make it a double date."

T'Pol eyed him with confusion. What did that mean? Tucker saw her expression and suddenly turned pink. "I must be getting really punchy. I think it's time to call it a night. Subcommander. Ensign."

He took his plate away and left. T'Pol watched him go and thought again about that shower. A shower for herself would be agreeable about now, too. That was one thing about life on this ship that she appreciated. Vulcans were parsimonious with water, but Humans luxuriated in it, expending a great deal of energy to ensure a steady supply.

"So do Vulcans date?" Sato asked.

"No."

"Then how do you meet somebody?"

By 'meeting somebody' T'Pol decided she must mean how did one determine one's mate. "Vulcans are betrothed in childhood."

T'Pol had expected another horrified reaction to arranged marriages, but Sato merely looked curious. "Do you like the guy you're betrothed to?"

"My betrothal has been broken," T'Pol said. At least, so she believed. Certainly there had been no further word from Koss's parents.

"Oh." Sato looked as if she wasn't sure what the proper reaction to this was. "So how will you meet someone now?" she asked.

"I do not know."

"So you might never marry?"

"That is possible." Certainly it was her one of her mother's concerns.

"Well, and what's the rush?" Sato said. "It's not like we have time for that sort of thing right now, anyway, right?" She stood up and gave T'Pol a commiserating smile. "But you should definitely try some chocolate one of these days."

T'Pol sat alone in the mess hall for a few minutes, wondering what logical connection, if any, might lie between not being betrothed and eating chocolate, but nothing occurred to her. Perhaps she should consult the Humans' database.

First, however, she would take that shower.


	12. Dear Doctor

**Spoilers:** "Dear Doctor"

**Author's Notes:** Trip barely appeared in this episode, so I gave him something else to worry about than a sentient species that might be going extinct. As always, thank you very much, reviewers!

* * *

Trip stared out at the perfectly lovely Minshara-class planet that hung outside the mess hall window, resigned to the likelihood that he would never land on it. Not this time around.

It wasn't as if the people who had gone were coming back all that cheerful. People were dying in the millions down there. But he was sure the captain and Phlox would find a way to help.

Trip had just finished a post-mortem of his own, on that valve that had blown up in Alex's face. It had failed way before it should have, and as best he could determine this was due to a flaw in the manufacture of the pressurized valve seal – the same seal used in hundreds of other valves all over the ship, in the various conduits that kept gases and liquids flowing to the places they were needed and away from the places where they were not needed.

Trip's staff could fabricate a new shuttle pod, if they needed to, and even create their own versions of all but the most sophisticated engine parts, but _Enterprise _was not set up to manufacture something as basic as valve seals. They simply kept enough in stores to use as needed.

He was downing the last dregs of his coffee and wondering how best to explain to the captain that he was going to have to pull apart vast stretches of the ship's plumbing just to check for failing valve seals that he wasn't sure he could replace with anything better when he noticed T'Pol come in.

She went quickly to grab a beverage, avoiding all eye contact, her back rigid and unwelcoming. For a supposedly unemotional Vulcan, she had a real gift for body language.

He walked over anyway. After all, this was work. "T'Pol, how strong are you with materials science?"

She stared at him for a moment. "Why do you ask?" She sat down with her tea, so he sat with her, though he didn't intend to stay.

"I've got a supply of valve seals I'm not sure I trust. The ones we have in our stores look fine, but I had one from a similar lot blow yesterday way before it should have – I expected to get at least another four years out of it."

"Was it being used within specified design parameters?"

Trip grimaced. Did she think he was an idiot? Probably better not to answer that. "Yes, of course."

"What is it made out of?"

"Supposedly, a very high-performance silicone. The design specs called for it to be embedded with predispersed, polymer-bound aramid short fibers."

"But you believe it is not?"

He shrugged. "It could be embedded with predispersed, polymer-bound puppy dog tails for all I know... my scanner's just not that sophisticated. Something's gone wrong. I'm hoping _your_ department has the equipment and the expertise to take a closer look." He scowled. "This is the absolute _last_ thing I ever expected to have to worry about, but if these things start blowing out all over the ship…"

"Have you notified Starfleet of the problem?"

"Yes, but until I have some specifics for them it's only a heads up. Besides, Starfleet isn't going to be much help to us with valve seals way out here."

"Take your samples to the chem lab. Ensign Rao can investigate more closely. I will confirm his findings."

"Thank you," Trip said. "I appreciate it." He caught the unmistakable aroma of her mint tea and smiled. "So have you tried any chocolate yet?"

"No, and I don't plan to."

"Why not? You liked the pecan pie."

"Doctor Phlox just repaired a cavity in my teeth. Tooth decay is extremely rare on Vulcan."

"You got a cavity? You know, I eat plenty of sweets, but I've never had a cavity. Don't you brush your teeth?"

There she went with the body language again. She could be quite expressive, really. He grinned. "I'm sure Vulcans floss religiously."

Her mouth thinned. "Have you notified the captain of the valve seal issue?"

"I haven't seen him yet."

"He is back on the planet this morning."

"How's that going?"

"We are still waiting to see if the doctor can come up with a cure. Apparently it is proving quite challenging."

"Huh. I'm surprised he had time to fit in a dental exam."

"That surprised me also. But I believe he wished to ask me for some advice about a personal matter."

Trip raised his eyebrows. "And were you able to help him?"

"Perhaps." She stared appraisingly at him. "Do you know of any successful long-term romantic relationships between Humans and other species?"

He stared at her. Why the hell was she asking him that? Did Vulcans even _have_ romantic relationships? "Can't say that I do. Why do you ask?"

"_I _believe that curiosity might cause Humans to seek out such connections, but they would most likely lack the emotional maturity such relationships would inevitably require. Humans are not particularly known for the longevity of relationships even among their own kind."

"Wait a minute. Are you telling me Phlox asked _you_ for relationship advice?"

That earned him a truly deadly look by T'Pol standards. Trip grinned. He hadn't gotten a rise like that out of her in weeks. "You know, my parents have been happily married for over forty years. They raised four kids together. That seems pretty emotionally mature to me. Maybe you're underestimating us."

"Perhaps I am. However, I seem to recall that when I sought advice about my marriage, you referred to three 'busted' relationships. I recall also hearing recently that you wished to say goodbye to a 'Natalie from Pensacola'."

How the hell had she heard that? Gossip sure traveled on this ship. "Look. Humans don't get betrothed by our parents when we're children. We have to get to know each other better, see if we're compatible. Sometimes, we realize that we aren't … or, that it's just not going to work out, for some other reason. Natalie didn't feel like waiting around for years while I'm off exploring the galaxy. I can't blame her for that." He shrugged. "I kind of had the feeling she wasn't the one, anyway."

"The one?"

"It's just an expression. The one you're going to marry. The one you'll spend the rest of your life with. My dad told me when you meet that person, you'll just _know._ I'm not sure I really believe that, though." Trip had been dead wrong before, that was for sure, and he'd sworn he'd never that fall hard and fast again. And he couldn't believe he was sitting here talking about relationships with a _Vulcan_ … and for what, now, the second time? He stood up. "I think I'd better go pull some more of those valve seals before things start blowing up around here." He nodded politely. "Subcommander."

"Mr. Tucker."

He walked out, uncomfortably certain that she was watching him leave the room. In any other woman, he might take that as a mark of possible sexual interest and feel just a little gratified. He might even walk down the hall and realize he was swaggering just a little. But in T'Pol … well, in T'Pol it probably meant he was just interesting the way a new alien life form was – or an old alien life form, but one she didn't find completely predictable.

Yeah, that was undoubtedly it. He had a warp drive and a bunch of unpredictable valve seals to worry about, while T'Pol no doubt felt she had to keep a careful eye on her unpredictable Human crewmates.

It couldn't be anything but that.


	13. Sleeping Dogs

**"Spoilers"** – None, really. This is a prequel to "Sleeping Dogs." I broke my rule. There just wasn't any meaningful way to fit much of anything between Trip and T'Pol into that script, so I decided that instead I'd try to show how T'Pol might have developed just a little more sensitivity to Hoshi and Malcolm _before_ those events unfolded. So this takes place the night before they find the disabled Klingon ship orbiting the gas giant.

And **thank you very much, reviewers!** It is very much appreciated. I hope you won't mind the reappearance of those pesky valve seals this time. After all, it can't _all_ be romance and pecan pie.

* * *

After she finished her Bridge shift, T'Pol stopped by the science lab. Ensign Rao had left his work for her to double-check, as she had requested, even though she knew from Commander Tucker that he believed the Ensign had resolved the matter to his satisfaction.

T'Pol didn't doubt this – but she preferred to confirm that herself. As she had expected, Rao's microscopic scans were precise and his conclusion fit the evidence. The work was sound.

In pulling the files Rao had tagged for her, T'Pol noticed that the ensign had recorded the proceedings, although that file was not part of his report. Rao made a peculiar habit of recording his conversations with superiors. She had once asked why, and he had explained that he used them while preparing his final reports, and that he also wished to have an objective record of his performance available in case anyone were ever to question it.

She did not know why he imagined that would happen. She considered him a competent officer, and she had made this clear on numerous occasions. However, he still struck her as being quite wary of her.

Curious to see how Commander Tucker and Ensign Rao worked together – and especially whether Rao's wary attitude would be present there too – T'Pol opened the recording. She noted that Tucker began with a question about Rao's family, followed by an anecdote about his sister's recent visit to Tamil Nadu for an architectural assignment. After a full ten minutes expended in this utterly non-task-oriented way, Tucker finally produced his samples and outlined the problem.

Perhaps this was a technique designed to allay fear, or to engender cooperation? It struck T'Pol as extremely inefficient, but Rao did appear more relaxed with the commander than he generally was with her. He immediately suggested that a sub-molecular scan of the items would be helpful, and proceeded to carefully review each seal. He reported his findings to Tucker, who cross-referenced the results with a list he was keeping. Two of the seals, according to Rao, were exhibiting signs of damage consistent with exposure to excessively cold temperatures. Tucker noted that they had been removed from systems that carried liquid nitrogen.

Tucker looked puzzled. "According to the product specs, these seals fall well within the temperature parameters."

"This kind of material was developed specifically to handle extremely high heat," Rao said. "I think someone may have oversold the low end of their temperature range."

"So it was definitely the exposure to cold that did that seal in, not a flaw in the manufacture?"

"Yes, sir. The other samples from the same lot look fine."

"Well, good. That's a relief, really. I was afraid we were going to have to replace every single seal on the ship. We'll have to keep an eye out for a better part going forward, but for now I'll just put the cold-environment systems on a … what? Six-month replacement schedule? Or maybe every four months?" He frowned. "Some of those lines are a real pain to access." It was not clear to T'Pol whether Tucker was asking Rao for his advice or just thinking out loud.

"I would assume that six months would be safe, sir – if, as you say, these conduits were actually functioning in that cold environment for over a year."

"Yeah, it would have been at least a year by now." Tucker sighed. "Perhaps I should have paid more attention to the more mundane aspects of this girl when she was being put together. But I was smitten with her lovely engines."

Rao smiled. T'Pol had noted before that many of the males on board, in particular, seemed to delight in speaking of the ship as a female, though she had also observed a few females doing the same. She hypothesized that it must have something to do with Human sexual customs, or perhaps gender roles, though the precise nature of the link escaped her.

Tucker said, "Thanks for your help, Ensign. I'll tell your boss you did a great job."

Rao scowled. "As long as we're speaking of _cold environments_…"

T'Pol drew her hand back from where it had been about to shut off the recording.

On the screen, Tucker looked distinctly uncomfortable. "Is this the first time you've worked with a Vulcan, Raj?"

"No, sir, it's not, but I've never had to report directly to one before. I've actually been thinking about requesting a transfer into your department."

T'Pol's mouth tightened. Her staff was quite small to begin with, and Rao's expertise was valuable.

Tucker said, "Not that I don't think you'd be an asset, Ensign, but I think you might just need some time to adjust to Subcommander T'Pol's management style. She's smart and she's fair. She's also had a lot more experience in space than anyone else on board. You could do a heck of a lot worse."

"I'm not sure about that, sir. I've never had such low job ratings in my life."

"Let me guess … she says you're 'satisfactory' in every category?"

"Not a single 'exceeds expectations'. And she lists _many_ areas in which she feels I should expand my knowledge."

Trip smiled. "She does the same thing with me. But you have to understand, Raj – from a Vulcan, 'satisfactory' is high praise."

"That's all fine and good, sir, but what happens when Starfleet compares my job ratings to someone else who's being rated by a Human who _does _notice when someone's doing a great job?"

T'Pol frowned. Were her ratings truly out of line with those of other supervisors in Starfleet? She had read the guidelines very carefully. It was true that her staff's previous ratings were generally higher, but she had assumed the new challenges they were facing in space might have caused some reduction in their performance. But perhaps that was not it. Perhaps, rather, their former supervisors had attempted to encourage cooperation or friendship by unduly inflating their ratings.

On the screen, Tucker looked conflicted. "Well… maybe I'll give the captain a heads up about that issue. But I wouldn't get too disheartened. Jefferies was notoriously stingy with his ratings, too, but when he recommended me for this post, Starfleet took him very seriously, even though my record also had a few…well, let's be kind and call them glitches."

"I can't imagine Subcommander T'Pol ever recommending me for anything."

"Nonsense. She recommended you for this."

"_And _made it clear she'll check my work later."

"That doesn't mean she doesn't trust you to do it well, Ensign. She's just … being Vulcan. It's just in her nature to be extremely thorough. You can't expect her to act exactly like a Human would."

"No, sir. But respectfully, sir – it's well known that working in your department is a lot more fun."

"Oh, that's just to balance it out, Raj – Engineering also pulls a hell of a lot more double and triple shifts than most departments. Give it time. We're all still settling in here. Who knows, the subcommander might even work her away around to having a little fun someday."

T'Pol raised an eyebrow. That would most certainly never happen.

Tucker patted the young man on the shoulder. "In the meantime …it might not hurt to get together with your colleagues and try to make some of your own fun. Off duty, of course."

Raj's face closed in, and Tucker's head cocked in concern. "Raj?"

"The science department just isn't a very cohesive group. Sato and Baird pretty much just hang out with Operations. Cutler spends every free moment on her studies with Dr. Phlox. Kimball is always brooding about her marriage. And Novakovich hasn't been the same since that first planet we visited. And Naiman…" Rao scowled. "Well, she interprets any friendly overture I make as something more than I intended." He shook his head. "I'm sorry. I know I shouldn't be whining."

"Don't worry about that. What do you mean when you say Novakovich hasn't been the same?"

"He's very withdrawn. I know he plans to resign if we ever get home. That's how he puts it. 'If we ever get home'. Pretty depressing way of looking at it, huh?"

"And Sally's having issues too?" Tucker definitely looked worried now. "Is anyone else aware of this? Like Phlox, for example?"

"I don't know," Rao said. "Normally, I might mention it to my department head, or the XO, but…" he shrugged and gave Tucker a meaningful glance.

T'Pol knew what the glance meant. A Vulcan wouldn't understand emotional difficulties.

It was a reasonable supposition. She didn't. The recording ended. Rao obviously had not expected her to watch it, and normally, she wouldn't have.

Now what should she do?

x x x

There was most peculiar music coming from Commander Tucker's quarters, which stopped abruptly when she buzzed.

"Subcommander?" Tucker asked. He had a small metallic instrument in his hands. She looked down at it, surprised that something so tiny could produce so much noise.

"It's a harmonica," he said. "Would you like to come in?" He was dressed extremely casually in sweats and a t-shirt; clearly, he considered himself off-duty.

"I have something to discuss with you, but it can wait for tomorrow if you would prefer."

"Nah, might as well do it now. I'll be a lot harder to find tomorrow."

"I reviewed Ensign Rao's work. It was sound."

"Yes, I was quite impressed." Tucker smiled. "Was that it, then?"

"No."

"Oh." Tucker looked taken aback. "Well, come on in. Have a seat." He quickly pulled out his desk chair, then sat down on his bunk facing her.

She sat. The room was neatly kept but rather pungent with the odor of the man, though T'Pol no longer found it as sharp and unpleasant as she once had. The décor was fairly utilitarian, though he had placed a number of photographs around the room, as well as a large metal object she couldn't identify. Of course, she was not here to analyze Tucker's personal decorating style. "Ensign Rao recorded his conversation with you, although I do not believe he intended for me to see it."

Tucker's face developed the most peculiar expression. "But you did see it."

"Yes."

"Well... if you were Human, I'd expect that you might be a little pissed off with him… or with me … or with both of us."

"As you quite sensibly pointed out to the ensign, I am not Human. I must confess I am somewhat perplexed by the issues he raised with you."

Tucker raised his eyebrows. "Which ones?"

_All of them,_ T'Pol thought, but she decided to start with what had seemed to most concern Tucker. "Am I expected to continually monitor the emotional well-being of my subordinates?"

Tucker grimaced. "I wouldn't put it quite like that, but yeah, crew morale matters. You also have to consider the possibility of suicide in a depressed crewman, and the younger ones who haven't been out on a long mission before could be especially vulnerable to that. However, I think the cap'n and I know you're out of your element there, so I wouldn't worry too much about it. I already asked Phlox to investigate a little further."

"I see."

"Of course, if you notice that anyone seems different than usual, you might want to take it up with me or the Cap'n. We don't want to lose anybody out here."

"Then you believe I _should_ monitor them. What signs should I look for?"

Tucker smiled. "You know, I'll tell you what _I'd _do. Liz Cutler may not be an officer, but she's the natural leader in that group. I'd try to check in with her periodically and ask her how she thinks people are doing. She seems open to working with you, and she has a good eye for other people's moods. And it also fits well with her current interest in medicine. Hoshi's another one you could ask. She's pretty observant, and she may know when people are hearing bad news from home, or just not hearing _anything_ from home, which can be just as bad."

"I see. Those would appear to be a logical strategies, Commander. Thank you."

"My pleasure."

"And my job ratings…perhaps you could explain where I diverge from common practice?"

Tucker held up a hand. "I don't think I should. You're following the guidelines. They have to get used to _you_ on that, not the other way around. Maybe if you can find something, anything, that you really feel someone's doing exceptionally well, you could point it out, but don't put yourself into contortions to do it. Rao is probably one of those guys who had straight A's in school and never had a bad review in his life. He's just not used to the real world yet. Of course, Cap'n Archer might have different advice for you. In that case, you'll want to pay attention to him, not me."

"Rao is a capable scientist. I would not wish to lose his services."

"And you won't. Not to my department, anyway."

T'Pol decided she might as well address the last issue puzzling her. "It appears he feels that my department is not 'fun' compared to yours."

Tucker grinned. "I doubt Malcolm's crew think he's a barrel of laughs either. We didn't come out here to party. Either they'll find their jobs fulfilling or they won't. If I were a young scientist, I'd be pretty pleased to be working for someone who can teach me so much. With time, I'm sure they'll get used to you. And if they can't, that's their problem. You can't be anything other than what you are."

She was somewhat surprised that he hadn't taken the opportunity to tell her she needed to 'loosen up.' He'd certainly suggested as much on earlier occasions, but that had perhaps fallen into the category of "teasing." This appeared to be more serious advice. "I appreciate your help, Commander."

"Any time, T'Pol."

She stood up. "I will leave you to your…harmonica."

"So did you hear any of it? What do you think? Don't quit the day job?"

"That would be rather difficult at this distance from Earth."

"Good point. Guess I'll stick it out as Chief Engineer, then."

"I'm sure that would be best for all concerned. Good night, Commander."

"Good night, T'Pol." He smiled warmly at her.

T'Pol retired to her quarters. There was nothing urgent on the agenda for the next day. Perhaps she could implement Commander Tucker's suggestion about Crewman Cutler in the morning. As inefficient as all these Human emotions swirling around her were, she had begun to realize that she was going to have to account for them in order to do her job effectively.

No doubt it would be an interesting challenge.


	14. Shadows of P'Jem

**Spoilers:** "Shadows of P'Jem." And it will probably make little sense without it.

**Author's Note: **I couldn't imagine Trip actually coming out and saying much of anything directly to T'Pol here, so I'm breaking my rules again. And as always, **thank you, reviewers. **

* * *

She was being transferred? She was leaving?

Trip stood in the corridor and stared blankly at Archer's retreating back.

x x x

"You heard about T'Pol?" Reed said, on the bridge.

Trip just nodded and went to his station. T'Pol wasn't at hers. She was probably packing.

Why did he feel so sucker-punched? She was only supposed to be temporary to begin with. Not to mention she was Vulcan … and extremely irritating. He sighed sharply, involuntarily. His body was telling him he was upset, even as his brain wondered what the hell his problem was. He _should_ be glad. He'd be first officer, now.

But he was busy enough as chief engineer. He didn't even want to be the first officer anymore.

And he wasn't glad. Not at all.

"Hoshi's already planning a going-away party for later tonight, after they return from the planet," Reed said. His expression was rueful.

Trip snorted. T'Pol would _hate_ that. It would make her _want_ to leave.

But maybe she _did _want to leave.

How could she just go? After all the effort she'd put into figuring out how to do this? After all the effort they'd put into figuring out how to get along with _her?_

"You know, I think I'm actually going to miss her," Reed said. He sounded surprised.

"I'll be down in Engineering," Trip said. He didn't want to talk about it.

x x x

When he walked into the mess hall on his way to the captain's mess, T'Pol was sitting alone at a table. He was tempted to walk right by, but decided it would look too rude.

"So you're leaving us," he said.

"Yes."

He stuck his tongue in his cheek. What to say? "I'm sorry to hear that."

She just looked up at him with those big brown eyes, until Phlox approached.

"Well, I've got lunch with the cap'n," Trip said with a tight smile, and left.

x x x

While Jon ranted on about the Vulcans and P'Jem and then went on to voice his immense frustration that T'Pol apparently intended to just roll over and play dead about it, Trip kept largely silent.

Really, it was just as well this was happening. Somehow he'd let her creep under his skin without even realizing it, even though she was his superior officer, a colleague, an alien_._ He was overtaken by another sharp, helpless sigh.

This was his wake-up call. He'd come dangerously close to letting himself get attached to a _Vulcan_. He should be glad this had happened before he'd managed to make a fool of himself somehow.

So he nodded understandingly at Jon and feigned a little outrage at the Vulcan High Command and tried to eat the tasteless food.

She was leaving.

Just let her go.


	15. Shuttlepod One

**Spoilers:** "Shuttlepod One" -- it will make little sense without it.

**Author's Note:** This is Trip and Malcolm's episode, so these particular missing scenes really should remain missing. But then I'm not doing this for Trip and Malcolm, am I? As always, many thanks, reviewers!

* * *

The shuttlepod was slowly tumbling in space. Nobody had responded to their hails. There was no sign of major damage from the explosion they had seen on their sensors, but clearly all was not well. T'Pol scanned for bio-signs. "Two Humans, Captain. But their readings are quite faint."

Archer swallowed. "Deploy the grappler."

"The transporter would be faster," T'Pol said.

Archer looked over at her. "We don't know what we're dealing with. If there's a pathogen involved…." His brow creased suddenly. "Aren't _you_ the one who should be warning me about that?"

"The probability that two men in a shuttlepod light years away from any inhabitable planet would have received any exposure to alien pathogens is quite small. The internal cabin temperature is below safe levels. The weakness of their bio-signs could be a sign that they are freezing to death."

Her slight indulgence in hyperbole worked, as she had known it would. Archer immediately straightened. "Tell Phlox to meet us at the transporter. Travis, you have the con. Reel that shuttlepod in as quickly as you can. I want to know what happened."

x x x

When the two men materialized on the transporter pad Tucker was curled protectively around Reed, both huddled in blankets. Neither showed any sign of consciousness. T'Pol leaned closer and was surprised by a strong odor of alcohol mixed in with perspiration and … potatoes?

"Trip!" Archer said, gently patting his cheek. He added, with some alarm, "Damn, he's cold."

"Yes," Phlox said, scanning. "They are both suffering from significant hypothermia … as well as some degree of intoxication. Gently now. We need to get them to sickbay as quickly as possible, but please do not jar them along the way."

They carefully lifted the men onto stretchers. T'Pol took the back of Tucker's stretcher as Archer set off at a pace not entirely consistent with Phlox's instructions about avoiding jarring movements.

How irrational Humans were. Didn't they realize that alcohol would increase the rate at which their bodies lost heat? Or had Mr. Tucker perhaps assumed that the increased facial hair he was sporting would serve as some kind of insulation? The effect was somewhat primitive, but not unattractive.

Once she and the captain had gently lifted the engineer to the bio-bed, it struck her somewhat forcefully that she had never seen this man so utterly still. It sparked an odd surge of protectiveness in her.

Lieutenant Reed lay just as still on the next bio-bed. His face sported a great deal less hair. Oddly, that peculiar protective impulse did not arise to nearly the same degree as she regarded him.

Phlox and Cutler immediately set to work stripping off the men's jackets and setting warming compresses along strategic places on their bodies, then covering them up again with warm blankets. "This is going to take time," Phlox told Archer. "Probably hours to get their core temperatures back up to normal. But I don't believe they're in any danger."

"Mr. Tucker's heartbeat is somewhat irregular," T'Pol said, looking up at the monitor.

"Yes, T'Pol, but it will settle down as his body warms. Luckily I see no sign of frostbite. I imagine they will come out of this none the worse the wear … except perhaps for the hangovers."

"That will teach me to leave my bourbon in a shuttlepod compartment," Archer said with an amused shake of his head. "T'Pol? Let's go see what the story is on that pod."

She followed obediently. It was illogical to remain any longer in sickbay when there were important questions to be answered. She glanced back at Commander Tucker.

Phlox saw her looking and smiled. "I'll let you know if there are any changes in their condition," he said.

"Thank you, Doctor." She quickened her pace. Archer was already in the corridor.

x x x

Tucker was dreaming, his eyes darting under their closed lids. What long lashes he had.

"It's really about time you woke up, Commander," Dr. Phlox said, with a little shake of Tucker's shoulder.

Tucker's eyes flew open and he stared wildly about for a moment, at least until he noticed her staring at him and his face flamed a most peculiar shade of pink. "Subcommander," he said. "I take it this isn't the afterlife. Can't imagine you'd be caught dead there."

She stared down at him, nonplussed. Wouldn't one by definition be dead if one were in an afterlife?

"Malcolm?" he asked.

"He's fine," Phlox said. "I discharged him two hours ago. You must have been missing some sleep; you've been out cold for seven hours."

Tucker winced. "I have a headache."

"I'm not surprised." Phlox pressed a hypospray to his neck. "If you don't mind me saying so, drinking to excess in dangerously low temperatures is not a terribly bright idea."

"Yeah, well… It's not like there was a hell of a lot else to do."

No? On the shuttlepod, there was evidence that someone had spent considerable time attempting repairs. Mr. Reed had also clearly spent a great deal of the time composing personal letters, or so T'Pol had concluded from the many personal files created by him during their mission. He had appeared quite relieved earlier to learn that none of them had been forwarded to their recipients and had in fact asked that they be deleted.

Mr. Reed had also filed what was, for him, an oddly dramatic mission report. For his part, Tucker had merely filed the minimal required reports as mission commander, reporting the bare facts with an almost Vulcan detachment, never even mentioning the likelihood of their deaths. It was a peculiar contrast, for in their daily work, Reed was by far the more reserved and professional of the two men. She did not know what significance, if any, to give to their apparently quite different ways of coping with their likely demise in the middle of space.

Of course, it was not _that _different. They had, after all, joined in drinking far more alcohol than was healthy. She said, "It makes little sense to lower the temperatures to dangerous levels to extend your air supply if you were then going to shorten your lives by virtue of becoming intoxicated."

Tucker just gave her the eyebrow equivalent of a shrug.

"Hypothermia can make the mind quite sluggish and irrational," Phlox noted. "Indeed, it is not unheard of for victims to rip their own clothes off before lapsing into a coma."

"I'm glad _that_ didn't happen," Tucker said, with a grin. Then his brows drew in. "It _didn't_ happen, did it?"

"No, Commander," she said. "You were both fully clothed. Although in that situation, skin to skin contact with Mr. Reed might have extended your survival somewhat."

"Well, I'll be sure to keep that in mind." He got a glint in his eye. "So if we're stuck in a freezing shuttlepod, you won't mind getting naked, huh? That's good to know." He couldn't quite contain a smirk. "I'm sure Mr. Reed would be quite happy to know that, too."

Phlox raised his voice. "I fear Commander Tucker's brain may still be a bit addled by the cold. If you don't mind, Subcommander, I'd like to examine my patient now."

"Of course, doctor." She turned and left.

It was agreeable to be able to report to the captain that the ship had recovered its officers and that they would each fully recover.

However, she could have done without Mr. Tucker's smirking.


	16. Fusion

**Spoilers:** "Fusion" – and again, don't expect it to make much sense if you haven't seen it.

**Author's Note:** One could say this is a missing Trip and _Kov_ scene, really, but I did manage to fit a little T'Pol in there eventually. And many thanks, as always, dear reviewers. (If you have logged in, I do respond individually.)

* * *

As they left the mess hall, Kov said, "Is there any particular reason you're curious about Vulcan sex?"

Trip began to cough. "Um, no, just curious. Same as you are about us."

"I confess I'm a little surprised that an offworlder would know anything about our marriage customs. Everything is _so_ hush-hush."

"I think Commander T'Pol may have mentioned something about it once. You know, we should probably take a closer look at your injectors now that the relays are so close to being finished."

"That would be great," Kov said, and they steered towards the airlock. "She is a very attractive female."

First Malcolm, now Kov. If Trip had ever doubted his private opinion that T'Pol was a hot babe, he now had objective evidence to support it. But he restricted himself to a noncommittal "Mmm."

"It is quite unusual for a woman her age to remain unmarried. Perhaps that is why Tolaris has taken such an interest."

Trip frowned. Tolaris had taken an 'interest' in T'Pol?

Well, and why shouldn't he? All the better if she could meet a nice Vulcan guy she actually liked instead of some dude she'd been fixed up with in childhood and obviously didn't. But he couldn't imagine what she'd see in Tolaris. He had barely met the man himself, but he hadn't particularly cared for him. But then again, he wasn't a Vulcan woman. Perhaps they _liked_ tall, dark and sullen.

Did that mean she might decide to leave _Enterprise_ to be with tall, dark and sullen? He sure hoped not. They needed her here, as science officer.

As long as Kov was being so forthcoming… "Just how old would you say she is, anyway?" He followed behind the slightly portly Vulcan as they wound their way into the claustrophic engineering deck of the Vahklas. It made _Enterprise_ feel luxurious.

"It would be quite impertinent of me to try to guess her age."

_Now_ he worried about being impertinent?

Kov stopped at an injector assembly. "Let's start with the starboard one." So Trip waited while Kov tried to get the injector assembly to disengage. It didn't look like an operation he performed very often.

"Are _you_ interested in the Commander?" Kov asked.

Trip laughed. "Me? There wouldn't be much point in that_._"

"She's so attractive." Kov sounded wistful. "_And_ available. You have no idea how rare that is."

Trip said nothing, just watched and winced as the injector groaned its way into the access channel. Had this guy even heard of lubrication? Trip pulled out his scanner and knelt down to examine the part in more detail. Like the rest of their engine components, it could clearly use some tender loving care.

He'd have to warn T'Pol that even if she fell for Tolaris, joining him on this ship would be taking her life in her hands.

"The parents of the woman I was betrothed to disapproved of my decision to join the V'tosh Ka'tur," Kov said. "So they found another husband for her. My parents agreed, of course. They disapprove of me too." His face darkened.

"Well, then, maybe you should give Tolaris some competition." Noticing the puzzlement on the Vulcan's face, he added, "Take an interest in T'Pol yourself. Why should _he_ have all the fun?" Not that Kov should really be spending time doing anything that wasn't related to saving these poor engines.

"Oh, she isn't interested in me. That much is obvious. She likes you, though. Or at least she finds you very interesting."

Trip looked up from his scan in confusion. "Excuse me?"

"She watches you pretty intently. I couldn't help noticing that when she came down to Engineering earlier."

Trip snorted. "She's just waiting to see me screw up."

"Maybe. Of course, I couldn't help noticing that you watch her pretty intently, too," Kov said, with a hint of a smile.

Trip felt his face turn hot. "She's my boss. It _behooves_ me to watch her."

"Ah." Kov didn't exactly sound convinced.

"She wouldn't be interested in me anyway. I'm not Vulcan. And even if she _was_ interested, which she isn't, I can't say I'm really willing to wait around seven years for … well, you know."

"Oh, but it's different for females. Their cycles accommodate to their mates'. We are quite fortunate to have two unbonded females with us on the Vahklas. They have been quite receptive about servicing our needs, especially as we attempt to reduce the length of our mating cycles."

_Servicing?_ Trip couldn't hide his grimace. "Doesn't sound very romantic."

"It's not," Kov said, as if that should be obvious. He watched Tucker work for a few moments, then added, "Tolaris says the only place to find romance among Vulcans is in pre-Awakening literature. He's considered quite an expert in the subject. Apparently his enthusiasm for it made his students so uncomfortable that he was asked to leave. He's tried very hard to interest the rest of us in the classics, but I'm afraid I find ancient Vulcan literature only slightly more interesting than engineering manuals."

Tucker stared up at him. "If you don't like reading engineering manuals, how the hell did you become an engineer?"

"I'm not really an engineer at all. I'm a furniture designer. I was the closest thing to an engineer we could find. It's been a challenge, as you can see. But at least I'm used to working with my hands."

Trip's eyes widened. These people weren't just Vulcans without logic, they were _insane!_ "Well, I'll teach you as much as I can. But you can get into damned serious trouble with a warp reactor when you don't know what you're doing. I _strongly _recommend that you guys recruit a trained warp engineer."

"Oh, we've tried," Kov said. "Unfortunately, we have not yet found one who is interested in joining our expedition." He cocked his head. "Would_ you_ be interested, Trip?"

"Thanks, but I'm very fond of my engines on _Enterprise_." He took a deep breath. He was sure the last thing Kov needed was a lecture about how they were all going to die. "I guess you've actually done pretty well, considering what you've got to work with." He stuck his tongue in his cheek. What would _most _help this gang survive the next year? "Tell ya what. When we're done with the injectors, let's do a quick review of your containment systems."

x x x

Trip stayed quite late going over the basics with Kov, who was at least an attentive student, if less quick at grasping new concepts than T'Pol was. Before turning in, he decided to stop by the mess hall for a glass of milk and dessert, if there was any left.

Alas, there was no pie, but there was some bread pudding. It would do. He settled down with a tired sigh just as T'Pol entered with her usual Padd in her hands. He sometimes wondered if she was just being super-efficient carrying that thing around with her everywhere, or if it was her way of coping with the fact that she often sat alone.

He smiled in greeting but didn't bother with his usual invitation. The tense set of her shoulders suggested to him that he would get a peremptory no.

She paused at his table anyway, after obtaining her chamomile tea. "Commander," she said. "You're up late."

"I was giving Kov a little tutorial," he said. "Did you know he's not really an engineer?"

"No, I didn't."

"He's actually a furniture designer, if you can believe it! They're lucky they haven't run into worse trouble. All those redundant safety systems you guys design into everything are definitely coming in real handy over there."

"They are quite reckless," she said. "In many ways."

"They'll be lucky if something doesn't blow up. You have to admit, though, they have some interesting ideas." He raised his eyebrows, ready for an argument to begin.

But she just said, "I suppose they do," and left.

Trip stared after her. That wasn't what he'd expected to hear.

And it definitely wasn't what he'd _wanted_ to hear, either.


	17. Rogue Planet

**Spoilers:** "Rogue Planet," with a touch of "Fusion."

**Author's Note:** I have to confess I never quite know what's going to happen when I sit down to do these. In the last episode, did I know I was going to make Kov into a furniture designer who's winging it in the engine room instead of the sweet capable guy he is usually portrayed as in fanfic? Nope. But I did want to give him an excuse for having the most far-gone engine Trip had ever seen, and also his apparent lack of interest in intense geeky engineering technobabble. I mean, a Vulcan engineer OUGHT to be way ahead of a Human engineer, but that just wasn't the impression I got from Kov. So that's how that happened in the last chapter, for those of you who found it peculiar, and I know some of you did. I still think the dear boy was doing pretty well, considering. (And I believe he's a _very talented_ furniture designer.)

As always, many thanks to my reviewers, both here and offline. I very much appreciate that extra effort you make.

* * *

Damrus said, "Captain Archer, what are the chances you'd encounter a half-naked woman who you think you know dozens of light years from your home world? Go to sleep. If you're lucky, maybe she'll visit you in your dreams." The rest of the Eska chuckled and followed their leader off to their own sleeping quarters.

The man's manner was not one that T'Pol considered likely to engender cooperation from the captain. Still, she was glad he had said it, if only because it relieved her from the duty of doing so.

Archer glared at her. "And I know what you're thinking."

"Damrus did have a point, Cap'n," Tucker said. "It just doesn't make sense."

Reed said, "Is it possible we're dealing with psychotropic compounds? We could _all _be at risk of one of these … visitations."

"I wasn't hallucinating, Malcolm!" Archer said. "But I _am_ tired. I'm going to turn in. You guys think you can figure it out, you go right ahead." He made an impatient sweeping gesture and stalked off to his tent.

That left Reed standing with his arms folded, exchanging worried glances with Tucker, who had his hands on his hips and a sour expression on his face.

"What do we do now?" Tucker asked, looking at her.

"Mr. Reed's hypothesis should be tested. There was nothing dangerous in the atmosphere when we scanned it from _Enterprise,_ but as we know all too well, conditions on the ground can change. Did the captain eat or drink anything different than the rest of us?"

"You're the only one who ate anything different tonight," Tucker said. "You think it might be the drayjin? Or that beer of theirs?"

"I will attempt to secure samples of each in the morning," T'Pol said. "In the meantime, I believe it best that I keep watch to ensure that the captain does not wander off again."

"I should be the one to do that," Reed said.

"I believe you may need your energy for tomorrow, Lieutenant. Perhaps you will learn something salient to this situation during your expedition. Besides, Vulcans require much less sleep than Humans."

"Yeah, go on, Malcolm, get a little sleep while you can," Tucker said, and patted the armory officer on the back.

"You coming?" Reed said, presumably because he and Tucker were sharing a tent.

"In a little while."

Reed grunted and left.

Tucker moved closer and lowered his voice. "Do you think we could get the cap'n to let Phlox check him out?"

"We could try. I doubt he will be receptive. As long as he persists in this irrational belief that his vision was real, one of us should endeavor to stay with him at all times."

"He won't appreciate that," Tucker said. "But maybe he won't notice if we're subtle about it. I'll try to feel him out tomorrow. It's possible that after some sleep this whole thing will look completely different to him."

"That would be ideal." She didn't say what she knew Tucker was also thinking: that if the captain's delusions got worse, they might actually need to relieve him of duty.

Trip threw another couple of logs into the fire. "At least he's not having paranoid visions of rock creatures."

"Indeed," T'Pol agreed. "Rather than suffering from fear of the unknown, it appears he is suffering from sexual frustration."

Commander Tucker began to make choking noises.

"Commander?" she asked, concerned.

"I suppose that might be possible," he said, his voice much higher-pitched than usual, "But I wouldn't recommend sharing that theory with him. At least not in those exact words."

"Why not?"

"Well… that's not something you bring up casually. Maybe when you're joking around … or with someone you're really close to … or maybe, you know, in a more abstract way that doesn't imply anything specific about a person's _own _… um, sex life. Or lack thereof. Doing _that_ is a little dangerous."

T'Pol was puzzled. "Yet if I am to judge from the content available in your databases and your entertainments, sex is an _extremely_ popular topic among Humans."

Tucker grinned. "Well, come on. Even on Vulcan, there's got to be a big difference between stories and real life. And also between private and public. Sex is pretty private for most people. Likewise, there's also a big difference between _suggesting_ something by showing the preliminaries… like you know, kissing or hugging, and getting right into … um…"

"Copulation," T'Pol suggested. "Yes, I have been briefed on the difference between pornography and what is considered appropriate sensuality in Human culture."

"Uh huh." His voice had gone thin again.

"I was trained in these distinctions as part of my preparation for a diplomatic assignment on Earth," T'Pol said. "But I still find the shades of difference somewhat perplexing. On Vulcan it is much clearer. _All _unnecessary discussion or display of sexual matters is strictly taboo."

"Mm," Tucker said. He sat down in front of the fire.

T'Pol glanced at the captain's tent, which had finally gone dark, and sat down as well.

Tucker gave her a sidelong look. "So does this mean we shouldn't be having this conversation?"

"Hardly," T'Pol said. "If the captain's judgment is being affected by sexual urges beyond his control, this is a necessary discussion between his two senior officers."

"I really doubt that's what's happening with him," Tucker said. He yawned. "He's not some sixteen-year-old boy. He's a grown man who's had plenty of experience ... controlling his urges … for decades now."

"You should get some sleep, Commander."

"I'm fine. I wasn't exactly sleeping well anyway. Hoshi mentioned some worms that llike to crawl into your ear to lay their eggs."

"Bore Worms. The Eska warned us about them, although I have yet to find a sample so I cannot confirm their existence. Even if they do exist, they would not be able to reach you inside a sealed tent."

"Yeah, well, I _know_ that in theory, but every time I was about to nod off, I imagined I could feel one of them crawling into my ear."

"Then you are also having hallucinations?" T'Pol stood up, instantly on alert. "We should wake the others and return to _Enterprise _before the symptoms can worsen_."_

"No, no," Tucker said. "You don't understand. This is something very, very common. It's really _not_ a hallucination, it's just … it's just being scared of creepy crawly things. When you grow up where I did, chances are you'll get stuff crawling around on you once in awhile, and when you're a little kid that can leave a real lasting impression. So it's just a little irrational fear that's a little harder to talk myself out of in the dark in a strange place."

T'Pol regarded him for a moment, then sat down again. "There is a logical solution."

"Oh yeah?" Tucker sounded skeptical. "Meditation?"

"Ear plugs."

He laughed. "Yeah, okay, that would work. Unfortunately, I don't have any with me."

"I do. You may have them."

"You have ear plugs? Why?"

"I sometimes find it difficult to meditate in an unaccustomed location without adequate soundproofing from others … particularly those who snore loudly."

Tucker chuckled. "Well, thanks, but there's no need. At this point, I'd just as soon hang out." He licked his lips. "It's nice talking to you. You've been kind of reclusive lately."

T'Pol bowed her head. It was true that she had been requiring additional quiet and meditation in the wake of Tolaris's mental assault. Tucker had tried a few times to ask her if she was all right, but she had rebuffed his efforts to draw her out. She had no wish to discuss the matter with _anyone,_ but perhaps particularly not with _him._ Between what he knew of her canceled wedding and what she had just allowed to happen with Tolaris, he could justifiably conclude that she was, as the Humans put it, "a mess."

"_Is_ everything all right?" he said again.

"Yes, everything is fine."

Silence fell. The fire crackled. Tucker stared at it pensively. "Keep watch for a moment," she said, and went to her tent. When she returned, she handed him the ear plugs. "I sterilized them," she added, in case he was concerned about hygiene.

He smiled. "Thanks," he said.

"Get some sleep, Commander," she said.

"Okay," he said softly, and left.


	18. Acquisition

**Author's Note:** Well, this one took awhile. When you're inserting a scene into a comedy like _Acquisition, _but at least theoretically it's one with potentially deadly consequences, you have to walk a pretty fine line between laughs and plausibility. Not sure this really manages either of those two, but it will have to do. Many thanks as always, reviewers.

* * *

They made their way to Engineering. Trip had headed there instinctively, but when T'Pol asked him why there, he was able to articulate that it was a place where they could easily hide if necessary while they hatched a plan. "The cap'n said he had an idea," Trip said. "He didn't get to say what it was. But it has to be something to do with his haggling for a percentage of the gold in our vault."

T'Pol looked nonplussed. "_Enterprise_ has a vault?"

"No."

An eyebrow went up. "He wishes to fool the aliens."

"Yep."

Her lip curled. "Surely there are more _direct_ options for overtaking the ship?"

"There would be, if I could find any of our weapons, but I can't. I'd suggest we try gassing them the same way they gassed us, but they've also stolen just about every med supply we've got."

"Could we employ their own device against them?"

"Sure, we could _try._ We'd need EV suits ourselves, assuming they haven't already stolen all those too. They're not the easiest things to maneuver in during a tactical situation."

"It does appear that you prefer to be as unencumbered as possible," T'Pol observed, with a cool glance at his attire, or lack thereof.

Trip felt himself redden. "I've been kinda busy. And trying to get to my quarters just for a change of clothing didn't exactly seem worth the risk."

"Your unusual costume entails risks of its own, Commander. You would not blend in with other crewmen if you needed to feign unconsciousness. Or the aliens might conclude that you are in the sex trade and decide to sell you into slavery, too."

He stared at her. Had that been an attempt at a joke?

Before he could decide, she asked, "Have you had a chance to observe them? Do they have any obvious weaknesses?"

"Well ... they seem to be extremely profit-oriented. Competitive, even with each other. I noticed the cap'n trying to sow seeds of discord with the little guy who's in charge of him. But honestly, I think the fastest way to get these particular aliens where we want them is to _give_ them that vault they're so desperate to find."

Luckily, Trip managed to find a mag-lock that hadn't been stolen or destroyed. They quickly ironed out the details. He would set the bait. She would attempt to confuse and delay them. Once the lock was in place, Trip would have to let himself be caught, or perhaps just walk right in and try to bargain with them – but not too early. Timing would be everything.

"I'd better get going," he said. "Good luck."

"Commander." She coughed. "Ensign Rao's quarters are along your way, I believe. One of his uniforms should fit you."

God, she really just couldn't stand him in his underwear, could she? Maybe his pale, hairy caveman legs were freaking her out? But was it _logical _to obsess about something so trivial at a time like this?

Well, they hardly had time to argue about it now. He just managed not to roll his eyes at her, and left. Just maybe, a little later, when all this was over and the ship was safe and nobody was about to get sold into slavery anymore, he could suggest that it sure looked to him like she'd let the Chief Engineer's state of undress distract her from more important priorities.

Yeah, that might be good for a little fun.


	19. Oasis

**Spoiler:** "Oasis." Won't make sense without it. Worse, this plays off a deleted scene, but since I've paraphrased it below, you don't need to have seen that.

**Author's Note:** Thanks, as always, for the reviews. I'm trying to wrap up Season One before I take a break to deal with real life for awhile.

* * *

Bound and gagged and locked in a dark room by the Kantarans, T'Pol had little to do but think.

She was not afraid, of course. Merely concerned. Also a little uncomfortable.

Fear is a primitive emotion, she had told Mr. Tucker, before admitting that the prospect of a going-away party from the crew had frightened her somewhat.

He had looked utterly unimpressed by her confession, and she had immediately wondered why she had felt driven to make it. It was not even accurate. She had been _discomfited_ at the idea of the party, that was all. But Tucker had insisted, "There has to be _something_ that frightens you," and she had promptly come up with something.

Why? Why this compulsion to find common ground with a man who immediately developed an attraction to every alien female they encountered who evinced even the slightest trace of competence and availability?

She breathed in carefully, trying to ignore the intrusive discomfort of the gag in her mouth. Jealousy was a primitive emotion, too.

But no, it wasn't jealousy. It couldn't be. Jealousy implied that she wanted Commander Tucker for herself, and that was ridiculous, for many reasons. No, what she was feeling was _disappointment._ She had hoped that Commander Tucker had learned his lesson from his adventure with the Xyrillian engineer.

But he clearly hadn't.

This was a risk for the mission … a risk for Commander Tucker … and a disappointment for her, as his superior – _and_ as a Vulcan who had begun to hope that Humans were more capable of impulse control than was commonly believed.

But clearly they were not. So it was perhaps reasonable to feel some disappointment. Especially since Commander Tucker's distraction might mean that he would not notice what T'Pol had – that most of this crew were not what they seemed.

Surely her absence would arouse suspicion eventually. If not in Commander Tucker, then in the Captain. _Someone_ would miss her.

She attempted once again to loosen her bonds, but they were extremely well constructed and appeared to tighten with every movement.

She took another careful breath. For now, she was stuck here. Perhaps she should use this time to carefully re-order her priorities.

x x x

Commander Tucker presented the Padd with the list of the remaining components for the Kantarans.

"A protein resequencer?" she said. "That wasn't on Ezral's list."

"They haven't had any food they haven't been able to grow in that hydroponics bay for twenty-two years. I think we can spare it."

"Very well," she agreed, and handed the Padd back. "Rather than gaining us spare parts and materials, this particular mission has resulted in a fairly significant net loss of resources."

"But we got an interesting First Contact out of it. And a couple of friends."

"Indeed." Commander Tucker appeared just as enamored of Liana as he had ever been, even after learning of her and her father's deception. The oddly goofy smile he got on his face when the young woman looked at him was just further evidence that the man simply could not help himself. "No doubt you regret the necessity of saying farewell today."

"I can't help worrying about them," Tucker said. "I'd really prefer to make sure they can get that ship running before we go."

T'Pol said nothing, just turned her attention back to her station. The decision had already been made between the captain and Ezral; she saw no reason to discuss it further.

Tucker stood there another moment, as if surprised that she had nothing to say, then turned and left the Bridge.

T'Pol focused on her long-range scans of the course ahead. She, for one, would be pleased when _Enterprise _was under way again.


	20. Detained

**Spoilers:** _Detained_ -- won't make much sense without it.

**Author's Notes:** I'm afraid this isn't one of the sweeter scenes. And many thanks as always, you kind reviewers!

_

* * *

_

Trip wanted to jump out of his skin. How could she be so nonchalant about the captain and Travis in the hands of unknown aliens, facing judgment? What if that smooth-talking bureaucrat was covering for something? What if they were being interrogated or tortured even as _Enterprise_ obediently headed towards the supposed location of this ridiculous hearing?

But T'Pol was in command. T'Pol was in command. And that was how Archer wanted it. That had been the captain's judgment. That was the only thing that kept him from jumping up and trying to argue his case with her one more time.

Of course, as it was, he'd almost lapsed into insubordination once again. If he wasn't careful, he was going to get thrown in the brig. Or off the ship. That wouldn't help the captain and Travis any. Or his career.

He took a deep breath. This would be so much easier for him if he could just trust her to do the right thing, but he couldn't – because she was so damned Vulcan, because she was so damned pigheaded about respecting other cultures whether they respected theirs or not, no matter who was at risk.

But there was little point in arguing further. He was quite sure she wouldn't be interested in anything _he_ had to say. Not now. After their time spent helping Liana and Ezral, she'd turned distinctly frosty with him. Clearly, to her mind he'd been unforgivably unprofessional with yet another alien woman, even though nothing could be further from the truth – in EITHER case.

He sometimes wished he HAD been unprofessional with Liana. It had been really nice, being in the company of a pretty young woman who obviously liked him, instead of being coldly stared at by a tight-assed Vulcan who viewed him as something akin to a talking baboon.

He took another deep breath, trying to calm down. Getting all het up wasn't going to help Jon or Travis at all. He did another check of systems. They needed to be ready to go, just in case she suddenly decided they could actually _do_ something.

x x x

"Commander Tucker, may I see you in the captain's ready room?"

She had stood up after a brief period at the science station. He exchanged a quick look with Malcolm. Now what?

Well, no doubt he would soon know. He licked his lips nervously and followed her in.

"Yes ma'm?" he said, standing nearly at attention in front of Archer's desk as she sat down behind it.

"You clearly disapprove of our present course. I am curious to hear your alternative proposal."

"I think we need to find out where they're holding our people and make sure they're okay."

"Unfortunately, there is no obvious way to find out where they are holding our people at this time. And although the relationship is not close, the Tandarans are well known to Vulcans," T'Pol said. "Neither the people nor the government has a reputation for being cruel or unreasonable."

"They're detaining two members of our crew simply for being in their space. And even though they already admit they know they had no evil designs, they still insist on putting them through a legal hearing. You don't call that unreasonable?"

"It merely suggests a strongly hierarchical social organization layered with bureacracy. Not all cultures embrace the same level of individual autonomy that Earth does."

"Yeah, well, that would be all fine and good if we were just trying to get a fishing license. But we've got two crewmen's lives at stake here!"

"As I said, Commander, they do not have a reputation for being cruel or unreasonable. However, they might justifiably become hostile if we attempt to circumvent their judicial system."

"I can deal with that."

She just stared at him. He bowed his head. They would never understand each other, never.

"I looked up 'electric chair'," she said.

He slumped. He knew he'd gone a little too far with that remark.

"I fail to see the logic in preferring our crewmen's _execution_ to seeking the help of a Vulcan arbitrator."

"There is no logic in it," Tucker said. "I didn't really mean it. I was just angry." But of course that wouldn't make any sense to her, would it? "I shouldn't have said it. I apologize."

"Allowing your emotions to overwhelm you during a sensitive contact with alien cultures is not particularly wise," T'Pol said. "Clearly, _having_ the emotional reaction is an inescapable part of your nature. Still, I would urge you to try harder not to verbalize your feelings in such a dramatic fashion in front of others. It sets a poor example for the rest of the crew."

"Yes, ma'm." He stared down, jaw locked tight. He knew she was right, but it still felt like being kicked when he was already down.

Silence stretched on. He stared mulishly at the deck plating, long enough to start looking for flaws in the joints. He finally looked up and caught her looking rather uncharacteristically bleak. "Dismissed," she said softly.

So he left. Malcolm lifted his eyebrows inquisitively. Trip just scowled.

He sat down and sighed heavily. The truth was, even if T'Pol wasn't being so damned Vulcan, they wouldn't know where to go. For now they truly had no better choice than doing as the Tandarans had requested.

"You think there might be any way to get a better lock on that carrier wave if they contact us again?" he asked Malcolm softly.

Malcolm frowned. "I've been wondering about that. What if we triangulated between the tactical sensors, the communications array, and the science sensors?"

"That shouldn't be too hard to set up. Would it leave us vulnerable to attack?"

"Shouldn't. I don't need all the sensors, just enough to get the job done. But I _would_ need permission to redirect them – particularly the science sensors. Our science officer is pretty particular about how they are deployed."

Trip stared unhappily at the ready room door. "I think it'd probably be better if _you_ asked her."

Malcolm somehow managed to look both amused and vaguely disapproving. "Cover my station?"

Trip moved into Malcolm's warm seat and quickly checked all the tactical scans and status displays. It was perhaps a useful reminder that the plan he had suggested would put them at risk of battle.

But that he didn't mean he wasn't still itching for a fight.


	21. Vox Sola

**Spoilers:** Vox Sola.

**Author's Note:** This little ditty was inspired by T'Pol's comment to Hoshi that, "For all we know, it was Mister Tucker's table manners that offended them." Thank you as always, reviewers!

* * *

Commander Tucker followed up his sardonic commentary on their shortest First Contact ever with something more practical: "Well, there's still a perfectly delicious lunch in the conference room. I don't know about you guys, but I'd just as soon finish my meal."

"I've lost my appetite," Archer said with a sour grimace, and stalked off down the corridor.

"Me too," Hoshi said with a sigh, and followed him.

That left T'Pol contemplating her choices. She could go without her midday meal and attempt to calm their clearly disgruntled captain, or she could sit at the table with Commander Tucker and watch him shovel food into his mouth with his usual hearty abandon.

"It wouldn't be logical to waste all that good food," Trip suggested.

This was true. Nor did the captain tend to appreciate her notes and observations on failed missions until he'd had a suitable 'cooling down' period. So she followed the engineer back to the conference room.

Trip reclaimed his plate and resumed his meal. "So what do you suppose set them off?" he asked, with his mouth full.

"It is impossible to know," T'Pol said. She carefully sliced her fruit. "But they did appear to be staring at our mouths in some degree of horror."

"_You eat like you mate…_" Tucker mused. "How the hell do _they _know how we mate?"

"No doubt they generalized from their own experience. The process of mating tends to be quite similar across humanoid species."

"Oh yeah? You've seen comparisons?"

She looked up. He had a suspiciously merry glint in his eyes. "Knowledge of a species' reproductive functions is an inescapable aspect of any serious study of exo-biology," she said.

"Hmm. I don't recall Mr. Velik saying anything about Vulcan mating in my high school exo-biology class. I'm quite sure I would have remembered something like that."

"We do not speak of such matters if it can be avoided. No doubt he did not consider your class to be sufficiently in need of the information."

"Well, at any rate," Tucker said, "I know mouths come into it, don't get me wrong, but they're not the _first _parts of the body I think about when I think about mating."

"No," T'Pol agreed. "I cannot think of any humanoid species that procreates through the mouth. Digestion and insemination are generally mutually exclusive."

Tucker had been drinking some milk and suddenly spit some of it back into the glass.

"Commander?" she asked, concerned. This was a new low in table etiquette, even for him.

His face was red. "I'm sorry," he said. "Please, don't mind me." He seemed to be trying very hard not to laugh.

"I said something that amused you?"

He smiled and shook his head. "No, no, no, Subcommander. For a moment there I just got this... image…" He shook his head. "You know, let's just drop it, okay?" He cleared his throat. "You think there's anything we can do to make nice with the Kreetassans now?"

"I don't know. They _are_ somewhat notoriously difficult to please."

"Kinda prickly, huh?" He smiled warmly at her. "Maybe we'll just have to be persistent, then."


	22. Fallen Hero

**Spoilers:** Fallen Hero

**Author's Notes:** I should be packing and cleaning, but of course I did this instead. And then I figured I might as well put it up in case the hard drive gets zapped by one of these endless thunderstorms while I'm gone. Many thanks reviewers, and I will respond to you (if you logged in) when I have Internet access again. (In a week or so.)

* * *

Trip arrived at the captain's mess and found T'Pol intently studying her Padd, as usual. "Where's the Ambassador?"

"She requested some time to meditate before our meal. A steward will bring her along shortly."

He went around the table to sit opposite T'Pol. He was a little early; the captain hadn't even arrived yet. Trip had never looked forward to a meal with a Vulcan guest of honor this much before. So far Ambassador V'Lar had been full of interesting surprises. "You know, I really like her," he said. "She seems like a very gracious lady. She even shook my hand. _You_ wouldn't shake my hand."

"Vulcans don't shake hands. Apparently the Ambassador has learned to overcome her natural reluctance to engage in physical contact with people she doesn't know."

"You know me now."

Her mouth tightened. "Yes. Your point?"

"You could shake my hand _now_." He held his hand out and gave her a polite, expectant smile.

She regarded his outstretched hand. "Unless I am much mistaken, handshakes are generally reserved for greetings and farewells, or for other official occasions such as the completion of an agreement or a contract."

"Yeah, I know. But it's always bugged me that you wouldn't shake my hand. I don't like being snubbed. So why don't you just shake my hand now, and it won't be an issue anymore."

"It was hardly a snub. I simply did not wish to shake your hand."

"Come on, T'Pol! Just shake it." He jabbed his outstretched fingers at her insistently.

She stared at him, clearly nonplussed. Then, frowning slightly, she raised her hand and shook his.

Her hand was warm and dry and her grip was firmer than he'd expected from someone so reluctant. If in some unacknowledged corner of his mind he'd been hoping for a spark of sizzling sexual chemistry or something alien or otherwise exciting, it wasn't there – it was just too obvious that she found his insistence bewildering. But it felt very nice that she had indulged him anyway. Trip grinned. "That's better. Thank you."

"I fail to see how a brief handshake can make the slightest difference to you at this point."

"It just does, that's all."

"I also don't know why Humans call it _shaking_ hands," she said. "_Gripping_ hands would be more accurate."

"You know, I never thought of that, but you're right. If I _really _shook your hand, that would be kind of weird."

She raised her eyebrow at him, then stared down at her hand.

"I bet you want to go wash your hand now, don't you?" He sighed. "You probably think I just gave you some smelly Human cooties or something."

"If by 'cooties' you are referring to microbes, they are also found all over the surfaces of this ship, not just on you, Commander. Since I do not touch my food with my hands anyway, I am not particularly concerned."

"Glad to hear it. And I do appreciate your … flexibility."

"I am pleased to have been able to resolve this 'issue' with you, Commander, although I must confess that I had not realized that it existed."

"Oh, it wasn't a very big issue. But I'm glad it's resolved, too. You know, my friends call me Trip."

Her tone turned as dry as a Vulcan desert. "I am aware of that."

He chuckled. "It was worth a try. But we _are _friends, aren't we?"

She tilted her head and examined him thoughtfully. "Yes, I believe that we are, at least in the extremely inclusive sense in which Humans appear to define the term."

He squinted back at her. She'd just managed to diss their relationship at the very same moment she'd acknowledged it, hadn't she? At best, it had been a legalistic answer.

But she hadn't said no. Trip resisted the temptation to start arguing about the meaning of friendship with her and smiled. By his count, he'd won two major concessions today. It would suffice.

Besides, who knew what other further surprises the Ambassador might have in store? If he was lucky, maybe he could even get V'Lar to give him a clue just how old their science officer really was.


	23. Desert Crossing

**Spoilers:** Desert Crossing

**Author's Notes: **I almost hate to finish this one, if only because I have no clue how to handle _Two Days and Two Nights_ (and I must confess I had been looking forward to writing this one). Season One is nearly done and I'll be taking a hiatus when that happens to get some other stuff done.

Thanks very much as always, reviewers. I do hope you'll enjoy Trip's predicament here!

* * *

T'Pol didn't need her scanner to tell her that Commander Tucker was in bad shape. Captain Archer all but thrust him into her arms and the Commander himself could do little more than vaguely orient his collapse in the direction of the closest bench.

She responded with the first priority Phlox had suggested: water. Tucker drank it eagerly for the first few swallows, then turned his head away.

"You require further hydration," she said.

He shook his head. His breath was coming fast and shallow and he looked distinctly uncomfortable.

"I think he's suffering from heat stroke," Archer offered. "And some badly bruised ribs. Drink up, Trip, you need the water."

The commander's eyes had shut and his ruddy, sunburned complexion had taken on a peculiar tinge. His expression twisted and he suddenly raised himself up a little in order to vomit what little he had managed to drink over the side of the bench. There wasn't much to it, but it smelled disagreeably of bile. T'Pol was grateful he had managed to miss her.

"Sorry," he muttered, sinking bonelessly back down onto the bench.

T'Pol scanned him. His body temperature had reached nearly forty degrees, he was dehydrated, his heart was racing, several of his internal organs were clearly stressed, and he had two hairline fractures of his ribs, as well as the extensive bruising Archer had suggested. "You require intravenous hydration, Commander," she said, and fished in the kit Phlox had provided her for scissors.

She cut his right sleeve open. He didn't react in the slightest. She took his right hand in hers and tapped the back of it lightly, trying to raise a vein to little effect, before attaching the automated needle port over what appeared to be the most likely spot and letting it establish a sterile connection. "Ouch," he muttered, though it sounded more like an afterthought than anything else.

She attached the IV and got the drip started, aware that Tucker was staring up at her, his blue eyes dulled by pain or fever or possibly even dementia. T'Pol found it oddly unnerving, though she wasn't sure whether it was because his eyes held no hint of their usual sardonic intelligence, or because of the strange raptness with which he seemed to be regarding her.

"Commander?" she asked.

"Mmm?"

"Do you require something?"

He smiled a little. "Just glad to be home."

Clearly the man wasn't entirely rational; this wasn't even _Enterprise _yet, let alone Earth_._

"Why aren't we heading up?" Archer asked.

Reed answered. "Our next window for evading the Torothan orbital detection grid won't open for another eighteen minutes, Captain. We need to stay low enough to evade detection until then – especially since I just blew up one of their gun emplacements. I'm sure they're looking for us."

Archer looked tense. "Trip needs sickbay. Can't _Enterprise _run interference?"

"If we trip their orbital detection system, we face a much higher risk of a firefight," T'Pol said. "It would be most unfortunate to escape death on the planet only to be blasted apart in a shuttlepod."

"Your science officer is correct," Zovral said. "I know how the Torothans work. Believe me, if I had not guided your people here, they would not have been able to find you at all."

Archer threw an askance look at T'Pol, who merely raised an eyebrow. She saw little point in debating the usefulness of his assistance. Technically, he was correct, though the Torothans had been at least as helpful by starting to fire on Archer and Tucker when they had.

"I guess we owe you our thanks, then," Archer said to Zovral. "Though I must say it took you long enough."

"We were fighting for our lives!" Zovral boomed, but then he softened his tone. "But of course, Captain, I am extremely sorry that your hiding place turned out to be less than secure. It was never my desire to put you and Mr. Tucker at risk."

"I'm sure it wasn't," Archer said, but there was a definite edge in his voice, and looked over at Tucker with concern. The engineer was still lying limply on the bench, panting and watching her with heavy-lidded eyes as she scanned him again. His core temperature had dropped slightly but his vital signs still concerned her. She wet a cloth and smoothed it across his face and hair in the hope that evaporative cooling would help.

The engineer closed his eyes and sighed.

"He probably shouldn't be allowed to fall sleep," Archer said.

"I'm _not_ asleep," Tucker protested, without opening his eyes.

"You appear to be much better acclimated to desert conditions than your Chief Engineer, Captain Archer," Zovral observed.

"Trip took some pretty vicious hits in that _geskana_ match," Archer said. "I'm sure that was a factor in his condition."

"Indeed," T'Pol said. "Mr. Tucker has two fractured ribs in addition to significant bruising." Tucker's eyes opened wide at that.

"Ah, but Commander Tucker was having a wonderful time in that match! He played with gusto! And surely a fractured rib is a fairly minor injury, easily healed?"

"Yes, as compared to nearly dying of heat stroke," T'Pol said, and got a surprised look from Archer and from Tucker as well. She had perhaps allowed herself to sound a little testier than was her norm. "Dr. Phlox said that he had warned both Commander Tucker and Lieutenant Reed to avoid temperature extremes until he could confirm that their bodies' thermal regulatory systems were fully recovered from the hypothermia they suffered recently."

Archer grimaced. "Actually, Trip didn't want to go. I pretty much pressured him into it."

"Not your fault," Tucker grunted, turning his head to bare his neck further for T'Pol's ministrations with the wet cloth. "Next time, we'll take a camel with us."

Archer laughed. "Good idea."

"A camel?" Zovral asked.

"Mr. Zovral, if you could please take over the helm now," Reed said. T'Pol noted that he continued to hover closely behind the man, as was appropriate. Who could say how tempted he might be to serve his own agenda at their expense again.

She took out the scanner. Tucker's respiration and heartbeat had both slowed; his temperature had also dropped another half degree. By her judgment, he was now out of danger. His eyes had slipped shut again.

"Come on, Trip!" Archer said. "Stay with us."

"Ready for that coma now," Tucker muttered.

T'Pol, perplexed, looked to Archer for explanation, but Archer just shook his head. He reached over and shook Tucker's leg. "Not yet!"

"I don't believe it would be dangerous for Mr. Tucker to sleep at this point," she said.

"That's my girl," Tucker said, and sighed.

"No offense, Subcommander, but I'd rather Phlox made that judgment," Archer said. "Commander!"

Tucker didn't respond.

T'Pol could see that Archer was anxious, so she took the damp cloth she'd used earlier, wet it with cool water from the pouch, and reached under Tucker's shirt to swipe his abdomen with it.

"_Gah!_" Tucker flinched violently. His eyes flew open and fixed accusingly on hers. "What the hell are you doing!"

"Keeping you awake, as per the captain's wishes," she said. She pushed his shirt up further and expanded her reach. He had a mostly firm, pale belly punctuated along the line of his trousers by a rather large belly button. "The evaporative cooling will help to reduce your body temperature."

"Okay, okay, I'm awake, T'Pol! That's enough." A fine sheen of perspiration had appeared across his forehead: it was a good sign that he was indeed rehydrating.

"Take a deep breath and try to relax," she suggested, continuing to caress his belly with long, smooth strokes.

"I can't while you're doing that," he said. His voice sounded strangled, and indeed his whole body had tensed up. Belatedly, she realized that he was also developing a rather prominent bulge in his trousers.

She quickly drew back. Apparently a Human male's belly was an erogenous zone. At once embarrassed and oddly intrigued – she had not read of this in the literature – she said, "My apologies, Commander. But I would suggest that you attempt stay alert until you are safely in sickbay."

"Don't worry, I will!"

Archer chuckled. "If I were you I would have just laid back and enjoyed it. It's not every day you're going to get a sponge bath from a Vulcan."

T'Pol resisted the impulse to frown. Surely that went without saying? But from where he was sitting T'Pol doubted the captain could see the full extent of what had just occurred. Tucker just grimaced and looked anywhere but at her.

Silence fell. The little craft banked and zoomed.

Humans were generally more affected by long silences than T'Pol, but as this particular silence stretched on she began to feel the need to say something, anything. "Would you like to try a little water by mouth again?" she asked softly.

His eyes met hers again, just briefly, and he nodded.

"And we're safely through!" Zovral announced. "You could never have done this without my experienced navigation, Captain!"

Archer smiled grimly at him and then scowled over at her for good measure. She had noticed that the captain seemed to most resent her warnings about engaging in a dangerously ad-hoc manner with new cultures when they proved prophetic.

Reed hailed _Enterprise. _When Ensign Sato responded, Archer started issuing orders.

T'Pol held the water pack for Tucker as he drank. This time he stared at the water pack rather than at her. It made him look a little cross-eyed.

T'Pol had encountered Human male sexual interest before, of course. While on Earth she had been asked on dates several times. One particularly bold suitor, a scientist who had just delivered a presentation about Human culture mores at the Vulcan embassy, had come to her afterwards and asked her if she would like, "purely as a scientific exploration of human culture, of course," to explore Human sexuality with him. He had assured her that he was an expert and that she was unlikely to have as fully satisfactory an exploration with anyone else, but she had demurred. Vulcans did not engage in casual sex, she told him, not even out of scientific curiosity.

Judging from Tucker's behavior now, however, he was unlikely to make a similarly bold suggestion. Perhaps he truly meant what he had said on various occasions about being "a perfect gentleman." Or, more likely, his arousal had merely been an autonomic reflex, rather than a symptom of any particular desire for her. Indeed, given how persistently he would pester her over minor things like that handshake, or trying a piece of pie, that was the likeliest explanation for his obvious embarrassment now.

This was of course for the best, since she hardly wished to be sexually importuned by an undisciplined Human engineer who had made no attempt to hide his enthusiasm for sexual congress with the first interested and eligible female he met on Risa, assuming they ever actually got there.

Tucker, whose color had improved a great deal, rolled over on his back, away from her, to stare up at the bulkhead. She folded the damp cloth into a small, neat square, wrapped it in a sterile bag, and stowed it carefully back into Phlox's kit even as the shuttlepod was pulled up into the ship.

They were safe from the Torothans now. She thought about reassuring Tucker of that, but decided it was a ridiculous impulse. He already knew. The man was fine. He would no doubt recover quickly.

She stared down at her own lap, waiting for the moment they could disembark. It was most peculiar, how disgruntled she felt.

Indeed, she had seldom felt more eager for her evening meditation.


	24. Two Days and Two Nights

**Spoilers:** _Two Days and Two Nights_, but you don't need to have seen it since this scene falls before any you do see in the final episode_._

**Author's Notes: **I cheated a little here, by counting the deleted scene on the DVD (which would have been the first scene) as part of the episode, therefore making this scene something other than a prequel. In case you're interested, here's the transcript of that, courtesy of the wonderful Chrissie's Transcripts Site:

_(in orbit of Risa, in the mess hall)  
RISAN: It'd be a shame to deprive any of your people.  
ARCHER: We appreciate your hospitality, but a minimal number of crewmembers need to stay on board.  
RISAN: If you add a few days to your stay, you could give everyone a chance to enjoy themselves. The additional charge would be minimal.  
ARCHER: It's tempting, but we need to keep some dilithium to run our engines.  
RISAN: Don't be so sure. After two days and nights on Risa you may never want to leave. I see your crew has chosen a wide variety of locales and activities that should keep them very entertained, but I see you won't be joining us, Sub-Commander.  
T'POL: I've visited Risa before. It seemed appropriate to give someone else a chance.  
RISAN: Well, I'm sorry. As I'm sure you remember, we have many diversions designed for our Vulcan guests.  
TUCKER: So, this covers everything?  
RISAN: The package is all-inclusive.  
TUCKER: Everything? You know, food, drinks, souvenirs.  
RISAN: Trust me, Mister Tucker. (takes dilithium container) No one will go away disappointed._

(It is worth noting that Tucker and the Risan were clearly talking about _more_ than just food, drinks and souvenirs and that T'Pol was staring at him with her arms folded throughout the exchange.)

And thanks as always, reviewers. I suspect some of you, at least, won't mind this additional installment in Trip and T'Pol's ongoing informal seminar in Human sexuality!

* * *

"Well, there goes half our dilithium," Tucker said, as the Risan envoy's shuttle left. "It sure as hell _better_ be as inclusive as he says." He was still skeptical. How could this culture not assign any particular value to its goods and services and yet provide all that was desired? Then again, _none_ of it would be cheap at the price they were paying.

"I was not involved in the negotiations the last time I was here," T'Pol said. "If I had realized that we could only afford to send half the crew I am not certain I would not have recommended this planet. Unfortunately, I know of none other nearby that would be more likely to safely provide the kind of relaxation Humans value."

She sure knew how to make _relaxation_ sound like a dirty word, didn't she? "You know, the kind of relaxation you seem to think we all desperately need isn't actually something that most of us are used to paying for. And maybe we're also not quite as desperate for it as you think."

"And yet I couldn't help noticing you were quite insistent at confirming that _everything _was included."

"Well, you're the one who suggested we needed to have our tensions eased. Are you having second thoughts about that?"

"Not at all." She raised her chin and strode away towards the mess hall.

He hurried to keep pace with her, noticing that she didn't even glance his way once. She really _didn't_ like it. And how logical was that, after _she_ was the one who'd suggested it? But he knew there was little point trying to argue with her about that, since she'd never in a million years admit that it bothered her. Besides, they had something else to discuss. "Well, that's good, because the captain is going to try to get out of his shore leave. I can see it coming. We're going to have to make sure he doesn't find a way to stay on board and do reports instead."

One eyebrow went up.

How he loved that eyebrow. He'd even stood in front of the mirror and tried to do it himself, but his forehead had immediately developed folds that reminded him of an antique washboard or a basset hound, so he figured it wasn't a particularly flattering look on him. But on _her_ it was just so damned cute … even when she wielded it as The Raised Eyebrow of Death and directed it entirely at him.

Hell, maybe he even liked it that way the best.

He sighed. If this little interlude on Risa could help him stop thinking at inappropriate moments about how hot the first officer was, it _would_ be worth half the ship's dilithium.

They went into the captain's mess and sat down. "Where's the cap'n?" Trip asked the steward, surprised that Archer wasn't there. He'd been in the mess hall earlier.

"Captain Archer asked me to tell you both that he was taking lunch in his ready room today, but you are welcome to stay."

"Oh, okay," Trip said, and turned to T'Pol as he sat down. "You see … he's already laying the groundwork. He's going to claim he's got so much work to do, he can't even eat lunch with us, let alone take two days off."

T'Pol looked back, presumably to confirm that the steward was out of earshot. "Judging from certain recent decisions, the captain is in great need of this vacation."

"What, only _certain_ recent decisions?" She so seldom wholeheartedly approved of anything the captain did.

"He diverted the ship to play a sports match in a hostile climate with an alien we knew nothing of, with nearly disastrous results. He turned _Enterprise back_ towards hostile forces when we had Ambassador V'Lar aboard simply because she refused to divulge classified information, again with nearly disastrous results. I could cite more examples if you wish."

"Neither of those decisions was as simple or arbitrary as you make it sound."

"Are you saying you would have done the same?"

Trip shrugged. "I'm not saying that. But then I don't sit in the big chair, do I?"

She frowned slightly. "As third in command, you would do well to consider what your own decisions would be in similar situations."

"I don't know, T'Pol. Maybe I'm just a little more inclined to follow the leader."

"As long as it's Captain Archer."

He scowled. "I follow your orders, too."

"With a great deal more discussion and a great deal less natural inclination."

"That's just because I like to argue with you," Trip said, if only to divert her from continuing her analysis. Because it was true: he had a harder time following her orders, even though he'd learned to respect her judgment and experience. He still wasn't sure why. Because she was Vulcan? Because she was gorgeous? Because she was a woman? He hoped it wasn't that. He'd never thought of himself as sexist, but then again for the last ten years he'd reported only to Jefferies and Archer, two men. Could it be that simple?

The steward brought them their plates: a salad for T'Pol, the lunch special of the day for Trip. Meatloaf, a favorite. But Trip barely tasted it, busy as he was internally cataloging every female authority figure he'd ever dealt with and trying to decide if he had issues. His mother? Nope, he loved and respected his mother and he'd sure as hell thought twice before he'd tried to evade any law she laid down. Teachers? Yeah, okay, he'd found ways around a few of them – but not most of them. Various early female CO's – nope, he got along with all of them, except that one who'd mocked his accent. But then _everybody_ had hated her.

T'Pol, in the meantime, had apparently been thinking about what he had said about the captain. She looked up from her meal and said, "Judging from the reaction you and Captain Archer had to my initial recommendation, it might be better for _you_ to remind him how badly he needs this vacation. As his friend, and a fellow man, you could perhaps refer to his needs without being regarded as…" She hesitated.

"Comically inappropriate?"

Her face darkened.

He grinned. "T'Pol, you still don't get it. Yes, he needs a break, but it's really not a matter of his _needs._ It's true that Humans are ready to 'mate,' as you put it, just about any time the opportunity comes up, but it's not like we can't function if it doesn't. _Especially_ the cap'n. I've never known him to go chasing after an easy, um…" He stopped and frowned. _Piece of ass_ wouldn't translate and wasn't exactly a respectable thing to say to a lady. "Short-term physical relationship," he substituted.

She gave him an odd, appraising look. "Yet it is my understanding, from my studies of the matter, that male Humans in particular require regular sexual release in order to maintain optimal health."

Trip felt his face turn red. "Yeah, okay. But, you see, sexual _release_ is not necessarily the same thing as having, you know, actual all-out sex." He licked his lips and, after checking to make sure they were alone, leaned across the table towards her and lowered his voice. "Don't Vulcans ever…" He took a fortifying breath. Slang was seldom a good idea with T'Pol. "…masturbate?"

She stared blankly at him for a moment. Then she said, "I don't know."

"What do you mean, you don't know?"

"Vulcans never speak of such matters. It's possible a doctor or a priest might know … but it never came up in my studies. Not even at the Vulcan Science Academy."

But surely that was almost criminally unscientific? Where was the logic in ignoring their own biology? He resisted asking the obvious question: "Don't you at least know whether _you _do it?" He wasn't really sure he wanted to know. Also, there was no way in hell she'd tel lhim. "But you do know what I'm talking about?"

"If only from what I have read in human biological texts."

_If _only? What the hell did that mean? "Well, then," Trip said. He couldn't believe he was having this discussion with her, but then he and T'Pol seemed to get into these bizarre conversations fairly regularly. "Humans don't really talk about it either. I mean, it's kind of private and … you know, embarrassing … but it's also not some big state secret we're going to refuse to study or keep out of all the books or anything. And according to research, most Humans do it. Hell, if you're a guy, and you don't do it, it'll sometimes happen while you're dreaming and work out pretty much the same. So you see … in _short …_ it's really just not as urgent an issue as you think it is."

She stared at him for a moment. "If it's not that urgent, then why are you so clearly intent on achieving a 'short term physical relationship' during your trip to Risa?"

He sat back. "Look, just because it's not a dire emergency, doesn't mean a guy's not going to be thinking about it … or hoping for it … _a lot._ It's just the way we're wired. Perpetuation of the species and all." He smiled tightly and shrugged, embarrassed. "And okay, maybe some of us more than others." He bit his lip, wondering if he would be going too far by trying to really explain himself. "Just because a man _can _take care of his own needs, doesn't mean he doesn't want to meet someone new, maybe even have a little romance. A moonlit beach, a pretty woman … maybe a surprise or two, something different and exciting…" And she would never really understand what he was trying to say. He trailed off, suddenly feeling incredibly wistful, though he wasn't entirely sure what for.

Maybe for a beautiful woman he could talk to just like this, but _also_ make wild, passionate love to?

Her voice tightened. "Well, Commander, I believe Risa may be able to deliver just what you are looking for." She didn't look at him, just stabbed her fork at a slice of carrot on her plate.

"I doubt that," he said. He smiled sadly at her bent head. "But I guess it will have to do."


	25. Shockwave, Part One

**Spoilers:** "Shockwave, Part One."

**Author's Note: **This is the last of my additions to Season One. Hope you enjoyed it. Thanks so much for all the kind reviews. It's been great fun reading your comments. I should give a nod once again to Chrissie's Transcripts Site for making this much easier, to Trek Core for providing visual inspiration – and, of course, to everyone who created _Enterprise _in the first place.

* * *

Upon leaving the captain's ready room, T'Pol headed straight for Ensign Mayweather. "Please lay in a course for these coordinates, Ensign," she said, and handed over the Padd Archer had given her.

She was conscious of Tucker standing and staring at her for a moment, before he abruptly turned and left the bridge.

He had been quite obviously upset. Absenting himself was undoubtedly preferable to indulging in an emotional meltdown in front of the crew.

"Course laid in," Mayweather said.

She hesitated. What was the slowest they could go and still arrive within the three days the captain had specified? "Warp two, Ensign." She certainly had no desire to get there early.

Ensign Sato said, "Where are we going?"

"We have been ordered to rendezvous with a Vulcan ship that will be picking up me and Dr. Phlox. Starfleet has recalled _Enterprise_," T'Pol said. "They've cancelled the mission."

They all stared at her in shock, except for Reed, who scowled darkly as if he'd expected it all along.

T'Pol gazed stoically back at them. Was this one of those moments when it benefited the mission that she was Vulcan and therefore would not react emotionally, or a time when her lack of understanding might be a liability?

Was there enough mission left for it to matter either way?

This was a most disagreeable situation.

x x x

Tucker's face was stormy when he answered her chime at the door of his quarters.

She decided that a reminder about the necessity of maintaining ship's discipline might be helpful, but she took some care to keep her voice soft. "Commander, I don't believe your duty shift is over for another six hours."

"What are ya going to do, put me on report?" He turned on his heel and paced back into his quarters.

She followed him in. "I am simply concerned," she said. "Is your head injury bothering you?"

"No, it's fine." Perhaps unconsciously, he rubbed the bump on his forehead. "It's just ... I'm just so angry I could spit!"

T'Pol had never witnessed a Human spitting in anger before, and she was quite certain that she didn't want to now. "Perhaps I should leave you to your spitting, then," she said, and turned to leave.

He raised his voice. "You're probably just fine with all this, aren't you? Probably looking forward to going back home. Maybe you can go ahead and marry that Koss fella now after all, and start pumpin' out little pointy-eared babies!"

T'Pol stiffened. "As it happens, I am not 'fine' with this turn of events. Unfortunately, three days do not leave me much time in which to gather an effective counter-argument for the High Command, especially when their existing prejudices have merely been reinforced by this disaster. There is also little I can do if the captain himself is not inclined to oppose this."

Tucker had begun to pace back and forth. "I never thought I'd see Cap'n Archer let us down. He fought for _years_ to get out here. And now he's just folding up and letting them get away with this!"

"The captain feels personally responsible for 3600 deaths. Indeed, as captain, he _is_ responsible for them, if anybody is."

"I don't buy that, either. Not yet. If you ask me, something smells damned fishy here."

She cocked her head at him. "Fishy?"

"I mean it's suspicious."

"I agree. Unfortunately, by leaving the colony we have drastically curtailed our investigative options. However, Mr. Reed has requested permission to run another, more detailed scan of the shuttlepod and I have authorized him to do so."

Tucker finally stopped pacing and slumped down on his bunk. "And if he doesn't find anything?"

She tried to offer him something positive to think about. "This crew will always be known as the first Humans to venture into deep space."

His lip curled. "Yeah. The ones who failed so spectacularly it put the whole space program back a decade or two."

"I'm sure that whenever it resumes, they will still require capable and experienced engineers."

He sighed. "By then I'll be in my forties or fifties. Exploring the universe is a young man's game. I'm not like Jon. I always figured that at some point I'd go back home and settle down, have a family. And once I do that, I'm not going to want to leave my wife and kids behind for years at a time. This was the perfect time for me to do this … my best chance to explore strange new worlds and work with an engine that's actually doing exactly what it was designed to do. And now, _bam,_ it's all over, practically before it even started!"

T'Pol was reminded once again of how brief the Human life span was compared to her own. Even so, she was surprised by the commander's analysis. "Your goals are … more traditional than I would have assumed."

"Don't _you _want a family some day?"

She took a moment to make sure her voice was perfectly even, her face perfectly schooled. "By not returning home to marry Koss, I may have already made that impossible."

His eyes widened. "What? Why?"

"Vulcan marriages are arranged, as you know. Among the extremely limited pool of remaining potential mates, my choice to reject my betrothed in order to serve aboard a Human starship is unlikely to be regarded favorably."

His brows drew in. "Why the hell didn't you say something about THAT when you were going on and on about all the reasons you were supposed to go through with it?"

Her eyes narrowed at his description of her as 'going on and on.' "I assumed that would be self-evident."

"Well, it wasn't! I wouldn't have given you the same advice if I'd known that… assuming you actually want marriage and family, anyway." He raised his eyebrows.

Just because he was asking an unspoken question didn't mean she needed to provide an answer. "We must persuade the captain to oppose this decision," she said.

"If I try to do that in the mood I'm in right now, I might end up getting thrown in the brig. And as it is…" He sighed heavily. "I might just resign. I'm not sure I have enough respect for the people in charge of Starfleet anymore."

T'Pol pursed her lips. Could Tucker not see that he was, like Archer, giving in to a most unhelpful degree of despair? But perhaps she should heed Phlox's advice about allowing Humans time to grieve. It appeared to be an inescapable requirement of their volatile natures.

It was unfortunate that time was one thing they did not have in abundance right now. By the time Archer and Tucker were ready to approach this problem in a positive way, she might be gone. She had no doubt that once that happened, the Vulcan High Command would keep her well away from Humans for some time to come.

"I must return to the bridge," she said.

"I'll be in Engineering shortly," he said. "I'm sorry I left my post, Sub-Commander."

"It was undoubtedly preferable to indulging in histrionics in front of the crew."

Tucker frowned, but said nothing.

She turned to go, but paused at the door when he spoke up. "I wouldn't worry too much about finding yourself a husband when the time comes, T'Pol. I mean, unless all those Vulcan guys without mates are all _blind_ or something." He smiled. His face had turned just a little pink.

"Vulcans don't worry," she said, reflexively. Tucker clearly had no concept of how actual Vulcans would go about making such an important decision as whom to marry. Nonetheless, she felt oddly gratified by his compliment to her looks.

"'Course you don't," Tucker said, with a smile.

She headed for the bridge. She hoped Reed's investigation would turn up something. It was of utmost importance that they find a way to reverse Starfleet's decision.

* * *

**That's it for now, folks.** I'm on hiatus until a whole lot of other stuff gets done. However, I'm sure I'll sneak back in to read other folks' work, and hopefully I'll be back with Season Two someday. Happy reading and writing, and thanks once again for the kind reviews.


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